


Wait for It -- The First Years

by Nyaar



Series: Wait for It [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ana is specialist at holding grudges lol, Asexual Character, F/M, First days of Overwatch, Gen, He's a big pupper, I also love Gabe, I hope, I love Jack, I love the Strike Team, In case you were wondering, Just like Jack and Gabe are there for Ana, Little Fareeha is love, No Liao sorry!, PTSD, Rein is good at taking questionable decisions, Rein's always getting injured, Sam knows his place, This is anything but cheesy, Torb is always there for Rein, Torb is the best since sliced bread, War things, anahardt, but he tries his best, perils of being a tank, years of slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-04-22 23:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 54,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyaar/pseuds/Nyaar
Summary: Part 1 -- The first years of Overwatch.The battle for Stuttgart left thousands of casualties, and the war against the Omnics rages on. With only his armour and a bunch of pictures, Lt. Reinhardt Wilhem arrives to Overwatch headquarters hoping to fill his boots and find a new home.Cap. Ana Amari, former Egyptian Army, has lived through much already. So much, that her only wish is to end the war and leave her daughter a better world. Nothing, and no-one, is going to make her lose sight of her objective--let alone a nice, handsome,idiotof a German.~~~~~~~~A collection of stories where both Ana and Rein tell us their story as the main characters. Slow burn anahardt, friendship, family, the old team, and pew pews here and there.  The First Years is complete.





	1. June 2046

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reinhardt has just arrived to Overwatch Headquarters. The only things he has are his armour, a coin that doesn't belong to him, and a lot of memories about Germany.
> 
> The Strike Commander is not around to interview him and decide if they would accept him in their ranks, but when Captain Amari receives a distress call from a nearby factory, he gets his opportunity to prove himself.

#  1 . June 2046

 

Overwatch Headquarters stood tall against the snow and pines of Switzerland. It was not hidden under a mountain --or even a lake-- in the way secret bases were supposed to be. No, it was just there, a grey building devoid of ornament but for a round carving with what looked like hands giving a high five. 

Reinhardt had somewhat hoped that the coin Balderich gave him included a private joke, but it seemed it did not. Well. As disappointing as it was, not everyone could have gryphons as coat-of-arms.

The helicopter that had brought him there took off in a cloud of chaos, spewing snow everywhere with the strength of its whirling blades. It was soon a small dot in the cloudy sky, and he curled his hands into fists and took a deep breath. That was it. No turning back, now.

Leaving the container with his armour behind, Reinhardt walked towards the large, closed doors at the front of the building. They were large enough to fit a tank, or maybe something bigger. He wondered what secret spy technology they stored in there. Maybe a big-arse robot to fight Omnics? That would be amazing. It would almost make it for the dumbarse symbol.

It was June and it was bloody freezing outside. He forced his hands in his pockets as he paced in front of the door. Nobody was coming to fetch him, despite seeing him land? There was no screen by the doors, no communications device. No cameras. Maybe there was a side door? No. No side door, just smooth grey walls. Actually, windowless walls, he just noticed--but he could swear he had seen light reflecting on glass when he arrived. 

If what Balderich had told him was true and this Overwatch organization hunted Omnics and protected humans, sure the tin cans would know of the existence of this place. Still--and despite the raging war-- the building had not even a single dent or bullet hole. It looked as good as new.

There was no snow on it, either. He stroked his goatee. It was really a strange building, but that would not keep him out. If this was a test, he was going to pass it with flying colours, he cackled, walking towards his container.

It opened flawlessly, revealing his trusty armour suit. He had had it patched up before leaving Germany, much like the army’s doctors did for him. They were both scratched and rough around the edges, but that had never stopped him from finishing a mission.

He made a thin line with his mouth as he opened the fixations on the chest plate; he did not remember a time he had put on his armour alone, and the thought made his chest ache. But times changed-- and the suit was a freaking fridge.  _ Shit _ . He felt goosebumps riding all the way up from his legs. He had never suited up in the middle of nowhere covered in snow, either.

The anchors for the boots were easy to find and helped him gain stability as he worked the suit up. By the time it was just the chest piece remaining, his hands were shaking all over the controls at the armour’s wrists. He grabbed them and probed the metallic fingers. All operational. Good. His armoured right hand closed the hatch on the side of the chest piece at the tenth try, and set the shoulder pad correctly. 

The engine on his back came to life at last, bringing much-needed warmth to his body, and he laughed in relief. He glared at the still-closed doors and the armour roared as he charged. 

He aimed for the joint of the doors, the weakest point, and braced for impact. Three feet. One foot.

He rushed through the doors as if they were made of air. In front of him appeared half a concrete wall with windows. Real windows.  _ Fuck _ . Reinhardt covered his face with his arms as his legs hit the wall and his momentum drove him through the glass, shattering it into shards little larger than dust. He rolled several feet inside the building, until he landed sprawled all over the floor.

"That didn't go as I expected," he winced, getting on all fours and looking around. Several people were on their feet, aiming at him with rifles. "Hello, my friends. I'm not the enem--"

A kick found his back as he was raising his hands, forcing him to stay down. Well, forcing was a bit of a strong word, but he decided it was best not to fight back. For now.

"What in the world were you thinking?" He heard the voice of an angry woman, and soon enough he saw her boots and ankles. Oh, and legs. Nice legs. "Didn't you see the holographic wall?"

Who cared about walls? She was tall and slender, but irradiated an aura of strength and self-confidence. She kicked arse around there, that was for sure. She was, by the looks of her uniform, a Captain.

"Stop staring if you want to keep that eye," her eyes turned into slits, and she pushed his jaw to the side with the tip of her rifle. Damn it. She could kill him that same moment and she would still be damn beautiful. "Who are you? Not von Everec, that's for sure."

“That’s true,” he let go a long breath. “Permission to get up, Captain?" 

"Denied," she looked unimpressed, and he could not blame her. He was standing like a dog at her feet, pushing with his back upwards to stop supporting the blasted engine with his shoulder blades only. “Now, talk before I lose my patience.”

“I’m Crusader Lieutenant Reinhardt Wilhelm, ma’am. I’m here on--”

“Lies,” she hammered her rifle. “The Crusaders are no more.”

The screens around them flashed a list of deceased Crusaders and he gritted his teeth, his body tightening as if someone was twisting and squeezing his guts.

It had only been a week.

One by one, his comrades' pictures scrolled down until the screen showed his. The only survivor of the Battle of Eichenwalde, staring at him with two eyes full of self-confidence and arrogance. His hands made fists inside the armour, even though the gauntlets’ fingers could only curl so much while holding their combined weight, and he pushed himself up in spite of the rifles pointing at this head.

“I cannot replace the General,” he said among teeth, looking her in the eye. “But he entrusted me his coin. Let me honour my comrades' memory by serving with you.”

After a moment of silence, the Captain made a gesture and the soldiers stood down.

“I am Captain Ana Amari, former Egyptian army, currently part of the Overwatch Strike Team,” she saluted him, her rifle resting on her shoulder. “We received notice you had all fallen, so we were not expecting visits,” she finished, her voice a pinch softer. 

“They died with glory,” he said, raising his chin proudly, but the words sounded empty. He wished he could scratch the bloody scar on his face while wearing the armour. “I’ll get you the coin when I take the armour off.”

“Keep it and show it to the Strike Commander. He will decide if you can join us. You can stay at the facilities until then but, please, refrain from breaking more windows,” she snorted.

“Sorry about that,” Reinhardt made a face, half a chuckle, half an embarrassed pout, and he saw her rolling her eyes as she walked down the corridor. 

  
  
  


The building was much larger than Reinhardt had given it credit for. Once his armour was safely stored and kept warm inside, a nice lady provided him with a badge so he could walk around the complex. And walk he did, for he had nothing else to do.

There was a shooting range and a large gym. A canteen where they served good-enough food and beer only at night (he had already asked). There were several doors he did not have access to and everything and everywhere had a very antiseptic look; grey and white, long tube lights on the corridors, darker grey doors, light grey furniture. 

Sitting at the canteen, Reinhardt slurped a vanilla smoothie while he eyed people coming and going; most of them were researchers or scientists of some sort. The ladies seemed to be amiable enough, giggling and smiling openly wherever he winked at them, but none would come to chat. Whenever he had tried to make small-talk by reaching a group of people, they had fled immediately.

He was incredibly bored, and boredom made him remember faces and places that were no more. Screens with crossed-out names and bloody Omnics. At this rate, he would end up doing curls at the gym to kill time-- sitting on the ground, of course, because everything seemed just too small for him to use. If only there were someone he could fight, he sighed, missing the loud canteen back home. His loud comrades. 

_ Shit _ . 

He gulped down the smoothie in one go. 

“What’s the matter here? Why’s everyone so shy?” He asked the bartender. “Never seen a German before? We don’t bite. Much,” he cackled. The tender rolled his eyes, never stopping cleaning glasses with a cloth. Reinhardt groaned and leaned his head on a hand, covering his ruined eye with it. “I’m serious. What’s wrong with you people?”

“Your reputation precedes you, I’m afraid,” Reinhardt heard a gruff voice by his side. He turned around, but he was alone. “Here, you big oaf!”

Something hit him in the shin,  _ hard _ , and he yelped, jumping backward and colliding with one of the too-flimsy-to-hold-him stools behind him. There was an incredible small beard--wait no, they were chops, and they were actually quite cool. And that mechanical—

His feet were taken from under him and he ended with his bones on the ground. He groaned, the healing injuries on his back all complaining at the same time, but the newcomer and his blond chops looked quite smug. He would be around his age, though it was difficult to say because he was really short.

“Bloody Germans. Don’t you know staring at people is rude?” He asked, the mechanical contraption on his left arm making a clanking noise in front of Reinhardt’s face. “Walking as if you own the place is also rude.”

“I mean no disrespect, my friend,” he replied, sitting up. The sight of the muscles of the newcomer’s arms painted an evil grin on his face. “But taking me down--that was quite the move. What about we arm-wrestle our differences away?”

“Hah. Maybe later,” he smirked. “Now get up. Captain Amari needs us.”

“Does she?” Reinhardt scrambled to his feet immediately, feeling a rush of energy. Bursting Omnic heads always made him feel better, somehow. “Is there a battle somewhere?”

“Maybe,” the newcomer said without much enthusiasm, making a gesture with his hand. He just about reached Reinhardt’s hip.

Reinhardt doubled up with laughter. 

“No wonder you’ve birds in your head with that height,” the short man grabbed him and pulled forward. “We’ll see if you live up to the rest of your reputation.”

  
  


\----000----

  
  


Captain Ana Amari was already waiting for them in a briefing room, fully geared for combat. While reading on a datapad, her other hand played idly with the long braid over her shoulder. 

She had no idea how this would play out. Probably she was stepping on Gabriel's toes, but she would play her cards as they came. 

“Thanks, Torbjörn. Lieutenant,” she gave them a quick nod as they entered the room and powered off the datapad. “I’ll be brief. I’ve received a distress signal from a factory not far from here, and we are low--”

“Let’s go fight, then!” The Lieutenant bellowed in his thick German accent and grinned, hands on his hips. “What are we waiting for?”

Ana looked at him with raised eyebrows. This guy was like nothing she had encountered before, let alone in the military. It had to be a facade. A distraction, to mess with his enemies’ heads. And his allies', too, apparently.

“The situation is hardly optimal. Even if you agree to help us informally--”

“I do!”

“--it’s only the three of us,” she glared at him. Despite what it said in his dossier, the Crusader did not seem to have any form of military training. Gabriel would shred him to pieces when he met him-- if she had not, already. “We won’t engage the enemy unless imperative, and we will focus on rescuing as many people as we can. Understood?”

Torbjörn nodded.

“I’ll go grab some supplies and meet you at the hangar. Tag along, big guy.”

“Not yet,” Ana said. “I need a moment with the Lieutenant. I’ll send him your way.”

Torbjörn raised his bushy eyebrows for an instant while his mouth curved into a grin.

“No doubt you will,” he cackled. “Leave something of the poor bastard.” 

She almost smiled.

The Lieutenant was looking at her expectantly, tucking the longish golden hair behind his ears. The scar on his face made him look fierce when he frowned but, from what she had gathered, he seemed content enough walking around like an oversized puppy--or an oversized womanizer.

“I’m all ears, Captain,” he leaned on the wall behind him, arms crossed and a little smile on his lips.

“You better be,” she stood in front of him, not intimidated by the difference in height and weight. “I’ve read your expedient--the whole base has, at this point. Despite your many achievements you’re reckless, egocentric, and ignore your chain of command--among other pearls.”

His brow furrowed, and she knew she had his attention. Good.

“This is a rescue mission, and I won’t tolerate you running berserk and jeopardizing our security, or that of the civilians’. Is that clear? I’ll put you down myself, if I have to.”

She did not mean kill him, of course. Just put him to sleep for a while. The look in his eye, though, had changed to something she could not pinpoint. Just--

“I understand, Captain,” he said in a low voice, looking like an oversized, upset puppy. How could his eyes be so expressive?

“Good,” she nodded. “You have five minutes to get in that armour of yours. Go.”

  
  
  


The factory was a mess. They had taken too long to reach them and whatever was not burning was falling apart. There should not be any Omnics left, but thankfully their aircraft's sensors detected survivors in a couple of buildings. 

Along with the two men, Ana had taken a handful of soldiers to watch over their aircraft and help the survivors once they reached them. Some of them were medics, some psychologists--and some were engineers which expertise was moving structures and building bridges. There were many operatives to chose from to begin with, most of them being deployed in the same mission Gabriel was commanding, but they would make do. They must.

The aircraft landed with a soft thud and the cargo door opened immediately after. Her heart raced. It was time.

“Establish a perimeter around the ship and bring in the civilians as they come. Torbjörn, make sure we are safe. Lieutenant, come with me.”

The Crusader walked by her side, his armour making a hundred metallic noises as he moved. He was at least a foot taller while in it and easily as broad as a delivery truck, but he moved as if it weighed nothing--which she was sure was far from the truth. She should ask Torbjörn to report later; maybe any of that technology could be useful for them.

He was also quiet, changing his big hammer from hand to hand every now and then and looking around pensively. It was an improvement from his loud-self, that was for sure.

“Everyone, keep your comms open and stay safe.” There was a bunch of ayes and nods, and she took a deep breath. "Torbjörn, you’re in charge now. We will search for survivors.” 

“After you, Captain,” the Lieutenant bowed and moved to the side to grant her access to the door and she restrained the urge to roll her eyes. She would give him one mistake before putting him to sleep. One, she thought, getting outside their aircraft. Columns of dark smoke rose from the burning buildings, and she covered her face with a handkerchief tied at the back of her head. 

“You don’t have a helmet,” she realized, looking at the Lieutenant as he rested the hammer on his shoulder.

“I don’t need one.”

Well, stone her. Who would have guessed close-ranged combatants did not need helmets? Nobody, because they  _ needed _ them. She let go a sigh, but said nothing. She needed him now, but he would not be her problem once Gabriel was back. She was missing him and Jack already. 

“I’ll cover your back while you get those survivors out. The Omnics are likely gone already, but I won’t risk it. We do this quickly. Questions?”

“None. Let’s do this.”

She climbed up bent beams and large pieces of debris from where she could see his figure. He was like a bull in a china shop; easy to follow and to shoot at, either due to the sound of his footsteps, the smoke that made him cough, or light reflecting on the armour. 

They rescued a couple trapped under a beam and then moved to the next building. There were tons of metal scraps and large tankers, and a smell like hell itself--it may have been a sort of furnace, but it was mostly destroyed at present. Ana crouched on top of a beam that gave her visibility inside the building and yet a good view of part of their surroundings. 

“This place is vile,” the Lieutenant complained as he coughed. The upper levels had collapsed almost completely, giving the wrong feeling of open space with a very uneven floor. 

“I’m sure a helmet would help with that,” she picked on him. He grunted something on the comms and she smirked, thankful about her kerchief even if it would do nothing about the smell.

“The survivors should be by your right. Further to the right. Yes, there,” she guided him to a large chunk of concrete that looked as if it had fallen from the uppermost level. She adjusted the scope of her rifle in time to see the Lieutenant pushing the rubble away with his armoured hands.

“Careful. It’s unstable above,” she said while shooting at the point she wanted him to look at. He raised a thumb at her and hammered the whole section down. It exploded in pieces that reached all the way to the opposite wall. “Is that what  _ careful _ means to you?” She asked, mildly incredulous, charging the rifle with mechanical movements. “The building won’t cope with your strength.”

“And what does?” He chuckled, flexing an arm without turning. She would have hidden her eyes under a hand if she had not been looking through her rifle's scope. For a split a moment, she wondered about the other Crusaders. They could not have been like this--could they? Their intel about von Everec never suggested it, but she found difficult to believe they would put up with the Lieutenant unless they were quite similar people. That, or he could see something in the Lieutenant that clearly was lost to her.

A couple of dirty workers scurried from a dark hole, frightened but apparently whole. Ana took a torch from her belt and made some signals to show them the way out. They did not move, though, talking to the Crusader and making gestures towards another wall. 

He started pushing another slab of concrete away, the engine on his back roaring. It must be stuck with others, for it barely moved.

“Leave it. I’ll call the engineers.”

“The workers are suffocating,” he said between teeth. “There’s no time.”

“The building is unstable,” she said slowly. “You may--”

“I’ve got this.”

She raised her head from the rifle for a moment to assess the building as a whole and glimpsed something moving. She blinked, but it was gone.

“We may have company, after all,” she jumped down her beam towards a bent concrete slab, perfect for sliding all the way to the ground, and looked around. The sky was clouded with smoke, dawn would be on them soon--but there was no sign of the enemy. There was nobody perched on the visible roof above them, either.

She heard the Crusader huffing and the ground sliding, crunching, cracking. Then, coughs coming from at least a dozen people and gasps for air.

“Stay hidden, I’ll--”

She rolled on the ground at the sound of a machine-gun getting ready to fire, and caught sight of a plasma barrier shielding both the workers and the Crusader. She rushed to her feet and zig-zagged while the Omnic focused on them.

“That’s all you can do?” He taunted, keeping it occupied on himself. “Come down here and fight me!” So he could be useful as well, apparently. Ana climbed up several broken pieces of concrete and equipment until she had a clear shot. Then, she smiled.

The bastion unit never knew what hit it. Two shots and it beeped in distress. Five, and it just plummeted to the ground.

“Good one!” The Lieutenant laughed, removing the barrier and turning to the workers. “Better stay there for a while more, my friends. May not be safe yet.”

“Torbjörn, there are bastions in the area,” Ana called the engineer. “Be careful. We have quite a lot of survivors here, we may need fire cover to get them to safety.”

The Crusader’s stomping footsteps clanked on the ground, making it tremble slightly. How much did the bloody armour weigh, anyway? He stood in front of the hiding workers, cocking his head at her scrutiny, and she gasped. The ground kept trembling even if he was standing. 

_ Move _ , she wanted to scream, but it was too late. There was a loud cracking noise, and the floor crumbled under them. Among the pieces of concrete, metal and pipes collapsing, she saw a large furnace laying at the bottom of a significant a drop. 

The suffocating heat and smell hit her and, for a moment, she felt like she was flying. Her body was devoid of gravity or anything to weigh her down. It was freedom in its purest form and it was darkness, if it had a gaping red, melting mouth. She thought of her daughter. What would she do alone in the world? Would Sam take her with him?

The darkness roared in distress, and she could not breathe. Blackness crept into her vision and engulfed the furnace’s light. 

  
  
  
  


Ana gasped for breath and groaned at the pain in her side. It reminded her of the time she was run over by a car in Egypt, when she was little. She knew, though, that she had been away from her motherland for quite some time, and that she was not a little girl. That was good, it ruled out a bad concussion. Her mouth tasted like blood and sand, but she did not seem to be badly injured-- just bruised and scratched, and maybe with some cracked ribs.

It was very dark around her--wait. The darkness was not as intense to the right of wherever she was. The furnace, of course. Hopefully, there was a way out, even if that meant climbing.

Her hands felt debris, small rocks, and metal rods, but not her rifle. Damn. She got herself on her knees carefully, but stopped when she heard a metallic sound above. Then servos ticking and hydraulic joints. Her mouth dried; that was not the Lieutenant.

Ana dropped to the ground in a split a second despite her instincts screaming her to run. Her heart was like thunder in her ears, but she did not move. She could escape or hide while in the dark, and she could not protect herself without her rifle.

The Omnic above hammered its weapons. Another machine gun, she thought. Another Bastion. She squeezed her eyes, expecting a round of shooting, but nothing happened. She was alive, and the workers were not screaming. A miracle. Her heart was about to pop out of her chest. 

The Bastion was somewhat broken if it could not read her heat signature, which was great news. She just had to get out of there, find the Lieutenant if possible, and kick his arse to oblivion for not listening to her.

Ana got to her knees again and scurried towards the opposite side of the furnace, ribs screaming in pain. In the darkness, her hands found their way across the uneven surface of the walls until her shoulder hit a wall in front of her. It groaned and crumbled, and she covered her head with her arms. A large chunk fell close to her face, almost pinning her down.

Just, the wall provided light, was panting, and was very much alive.

“Lieutenant,” she gasped. A large armoured hand covered the half of his face where the scar was while the other was by her own face--limp. 

Ana wriggled herself out of her improvised shelter and kicked his hammer out of her way so she could sit on her feet.

Now that he had moved, his armour lit the room dimly ahead of them,-- or what was left of it. Debris piled in big chunks, and there was a broken pipe somewhere. Water, hopefully, since it did not smell. They were on a tunnel of some sort, uneven and carved on the wall. 

“We need to get out before the bastion kill the workers,” she whispered, yet he still did not acknowledge her. The left side of his armour was scratched and torn in places. Blood dripped down the metallic fingers on his face as he panted, lost in his mind. She bit her lip--they had no time for inner demons, now. Her hands fumbled with the pockets on her vest and found an adrenaline dart. 

She plunged it into the side of his neck, counted to three, and pulled at his limp left arm. He roared in pain, throwing a blind punch at her. She dodged it, rolling on the ground in a very unceremonious way and gasped in agony as she landed, her vision blurry. She grabbed another dart with a trembling hand. It was always a tough decision, to take one for herself when she could save someone’s life, but many souls depended on them. 

She felt the adrenaline, but it barely did anything to improve her shortness of breath. She coughed up blood--Ribs must be more broken than she thought. 

“Captain?” He called, his voice rough. Ana heard the clanking sound of the armour moving and then a curse when he hit his head against the improvised roof. For goodness' sake. She would have laughed if it did not hurt so much. The Crusader knelt by her side with a grunt and a large cold hand felt her arm. Then, she saw LEDs behind him.

“Behind you,” she croaked.

The Bastion opened fire. The Lieutenant groaned as the bullets rebounded on his plated back and he turned around, grabbing forward his useless left forearm. A plasma barrier hummed to life in front of them, stopping the bullets for now.

“Can you move? Just a bit? Get behind some rubble?” He asked, practically filling the whole tunnel just by crouching on it. The bastion’s attack was relentless, and the plasma barrier was cracking at the sides already.

“No,” she whispered, feeling a deep, cold dread. Not for her, but for Fareeha. For those poor souls they had tried to save and that may end up dead all the same. Even for the buffoon that was trying to save her life.

“Don’t worry, then. Just stay with me,  _ maus _ You’ll live. And our short friend will save those workers.”

The barrier gave out.

The Crusader turned around and towered over her, and then it was all darkness. 

  
  


\--0000--

 

The rain of bullets stopped hitting his back after a long while, and Reinhardt gasped in relief. He was alive, somehow. Hiding his head seemed to have done the trick but, the way his back hurt meant his armour was a wreck--just as at Eichenwalde. Damned Bastion had been shooting freaking anti-tank rounds for more than a minute--and it was so damned close to them that bullets did not even have the chance to slow down. 

He moved a bit, enough to see the Captain being immobile under his frame, curled on herself, her dark skin paling.

“Captain, you there?” He heard the engineer’s voice echoing down the hole. He felt a wave of relief. He had killed the Omnic for sure, and he would save the Captain, too.

“We’re down here,” Reinhardt answered instead, clanking his hand against the wall. His comm unit was as busted as the rest of his armour. “I owe you a beer, my friend. A good German beer.”

And beer was exactly what he needed. He sat on the ground; both his back and his dislocated shoulder screamed at every movement, but he would  _ kill  _ to stop the pain on his already blind eye. 

“But hurry up. The Captain is injured,” he continued, hearing him already working on something.

“Why didn’t you say it sooner?!”

Reinhardt grabbed his pounding head again and tried to squirm closer to the wall to make way for the medics. More people were getting closer now, but he could not tell if they were the workers or some of the soldiers that came with them. His vision was blurry and he could barely distinguish the Captain's silhouette against the faint light but, the way his head hurt, he did not even want to try squinting. He could, though, berate himself for failing to carry the Captain to safety in the first place.

She would have ended at the bottom of that furnace had he not charged, but still. She was so small, and lean. Fragile. And yet she killed that Bastion in a blink of an eye. Impressive--And how she dodged and climbed. They never had such skilled snipers in the German army.

“What in all forges happened to you, big guy?” He heard the engineer (what was his name again?) say when he pointed a torch to his face. 

“Not important,” he shook his head and regretted it immediately. There were more than stars in front of his eyes, now. “Doctor’s with you,  _ ja _ ?”

There was, in fact, more than one doctor. As they worked on her, Reinhardt’s mouth formed a thin line. He had no right to say he knew the Captain, but he did. She was fierce and kind- hearted. She knew her priorities, tried to keep them all safe. And, while she barely breathed by his side, he could not stop thinking about how similar she was to Balderich--and how much he would hate himself if she also died because of him. 

The engineer’s metallic contraption clunking in front of his face made him look away.

“That blow to your pretty face doesn’t look very good,” he said, taking the large armour hand away from his head. Reinhardt would have pushed him away, but he felt drained. “Why in the hell don’t you wear a helmet?”

He groaned.

  
  
  


The doctors at the headquarters promised she would live-- that was all Reinhardt needed to stop being difficult and let them take a look at his injuries. As dramatic as they may have been, they were nothing he would not survive with ice and painkillers. And beer. 

But drinking with a pounding head was not as much fun as having a pounding head after drinking, he thought, sitting at the edge of a small bed and rubbing the back of his neck. Besides, he could not shake the feeling of failure from his bones. 

It was not that he regretted saving those people, no. But he had never been so painfully aware of his decisions--and their consequences to others--until now. During his years as a Crusader he thought he knew what he was doing, but maybe--maybe he was not cut out for being a shield, after all. Maybe he truly was too reckless, too impulsive.

He groaned. Screw it. Beer it was, and plenty of it. Now.

He was getting out the door, not even bothering to put his boots on, when he collided with something-- or somebody, as his shins painfully let him know.

“Getting yourself almost killed out there isn’t enough to call it a day?”

“Ah, I’m just going for beer,” Reinhardt said slowly, his voice rumbling in his ears.

The engineer looked at him frowning, his bushy eyebrows forming a large caterpillar of hair. Reinhardt felt the pull of a smile on his lips and coughed somewhat to spare his shins. 

“Get back to bed,” he said after a moment of glaring. “You're worse that my kids, not being able to stay put for a moment.”

“I’m not--” He stopped talking when his short visitor pressed some buttons on the metallic contraption of his arm. “What are you doing?”

“Bringing the beer here, you moron. You won’t make it to the canteen without falling on your face,” he scratched one of his chops. “Actually, that would be fun.”

Reinhardt chuckled and winced at the strain it put on his body. When he was not actively trying to maim him, the engineer was quite comical. He liked that, he thought while sitting at the edge of the bed.

“Lieutenant Reinhardt Wilhelm, at your service,” he offered him a hand, that he took. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

“Chief Engineer Torbjörn Lindholm, at yours,” he looked around for a moment, then continued. “I wanted to thank you for saving Ana.” 

“I almost killed her,” he shrugged, which was a bad idea. Same as taking the sling off. He grabbed the cold pack the doctors gave him from the table and pressed it against his shoulder. “Where is that beer?”

“Of course. The Germans need to  _ have _ everything now and  _ do _ everything now,” Torbjörn rolled his eyes. “What about the planning? The journey?”

“What journey?”

“It’s a manner of speech, you oaf,” he jumped on to the bed and sat by his side. His short legs dangled far from the floor, which did not seem to bother him a bit. “You really hit your head hard--which reminds me. Who’s gonna fix your armour?”

“Me, I guess.”

“Please,” he rolled his eyes. “I’m dead, now. Killed by German sense of humour.”

“I won’t impose,” he moved the pack to his eye to restrain himself from taking it out its socket, and let go a long breath. “Beer?”

“Didn’t you get something else for the head?” Torbjörn pressed some more buttons on his arm-thing and a red and yellow robot opened the door, rolling a barrel up to them. The bastard had it hidden! He glared at the engineer, and he smirked, smug.

“Most painkillers don’t mix very well with me,” Reinhardt bent over -slowly- to tap the barrel just to notice he did not have a mug. The engineer produced one from one of his pouches, shrugging, and he filled it to the brim. Beer was beer. It’ll kill whatever that mug had contained before. “Size, or something.”

Torbjörn nodded, then made a face.

“Seeing your disposition to crash, I could make you a helmet. Honestly, I don’t understand how you have survived this long without.”

“Cause I had friends,” Reinhardt said, tasting the beer. It was bitter and dark, just like he was feeling. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” the engineer said after a moment, raising his fist against the mug. They remained silent for a moment, until he spoke again. “Well. If you change your mind about your armour let me know. I’d like to see its insides, too, if you know what I mean.”

He jumped down to the ground and patted the keg. Reinhardt watched him walk towards the door, feeling the beer turn to ashes in his mouth. The engineer had not left, yet the silence of the white antiseptic room was already deafening, giving rein to the demons on his mind. He left the mug on the nightstand with a shaky hand before he dropped it, and gritted his teeth. Stupid cracked cheekbone. Stupid scar. Stupid painkillers.

He was more than thirty and had seen battle all his adult life. He should not be this weak. This lonely, guilty, and pathetic.

“Wouldn’t you drink with me, my friend?” He said, hoping his voice would not crack. 

“Hah. I thought you’d never ask!” Torbjörn let go a hearty chuckle and walked back to him, taking off the metallic thing on his arm and leaving it by the bed. Then, somehow he produced another mug from his pouches. “The emergency one,” he said, filling it up. “So, what do Germans talk about over beer? Sweethearts?”

  
  
  
  


Reinhardt woke up to a cramp in his injured shoulder. He had fallen asleep curled on his right side against the bedpost, which probably was not a terrible idea considering how short the bed was in the first place. It was almost dawn outside, but he did not remember Torbjörn leaving. As he massaged the angry muscles into submission, he noticed that his mind seemed sharper despite the horrible throbbing on his skull. He could not be more grateful for it. He did not remember much of what happened during the night other than feeling like shit. They were drinking, exchanging tales about--he had no idea about what.

He stretched out slowly and got up. His back was sore to the last inch, but he welcomed the sensation. He was alive, and so was the Captain. He felt a pang of guilt, of failure, but he took a deep breath. 

It was not in his nature to surrender. 

He would fix his armour somehow and, if Overwatch did not want him, he would find another battlefront where he could serve. Fighting was all he knew, after all. If he was not cut out to protect others, he sure as hell was cut out to smash trash cans to pieces.

He looked through the window. The holographic wall did not prevent him seeing the snow and trees around them. It felt peaceful outside. And the doctor said cold would be good for his injuries, did she not?

  
  
  


\---000---

  
  


Ana woke up startled. She was dreaming of sand and scorching heat. Her rifle. Her friends of old, her father. And then, there were only screams. She touched her midsection tentatively. Breathing hurt like stupid, but she was not dead. Her mouth tasted terribly, but someone had been so kind as to leave her a glass of water by the side of the bed.

The sun was high in the sky already, she noticed--but that was not what surprised her. There were a bunch of green twigs in a vase, some with small red fruits. 

“You’re awake at last,” she heard a voice, and scrambled to get a pistol she kept close to the bed-header. There was somebody in the lavatory that raised a hand through the open door. “Easy. It’s just me.”

“Jack,” she winced, lowering the gun. “Babysitting me?”

He chuckled, low in his throat. 

“I would never dare.”

“That’s why you brought me flowers?” She made a gesture with her head towards the twigs. Holding herself on the mattress she pushed herself to a sitting position, gasping when the bones grated against each other. It had not been as painful as it was unpleasant, but she still felt nauseous.

“I didn’t. They were there when I came,” Jack said, sitting on a chair by the bed, elbows on his knees. “I just wanted to make sure you were OK. It was unexpected to return and, well. It is not like you to rush into danger like this.”

“It was an emergency,” she looked into Jack’s eyes, but there was only concern there. “How long have I been out?”

“Twelve hours. The nanites have already repaired most of the damage to the lungs, your team was quick.”

“I don’t remember what happened. Just the Omnic, and the Lieutenant…” Ana stopped talking. She had a vague memory of the tunnel.

“Who is he, again?" Jack ran a hand over his golden hair. "I’ve heard some… rumours.”

“Ah, so you came to gossip, then,” she raised an eyebrow, and he chuckled. “Where is Gabriel?”

“Looking for him. Apparently, he is quite difficult to find for a giant Germ--”

The door opened quietly and a blue eye framed by blonde hair peered through the door gap. It was not able to see enough, though, for the gap enlarged until a nose could fit, too.

“Stop being a creep and come in, Lieutenant,” she called. “You are anything but stealthy.”

He said something under his breath that she could not understand and pushed the door open after a moment. The scar on his forehead had reopened and that whole side of his face was black and purple down to the jaw. It was lucky he did not see with that eye, for it was swollen shut.  She remembered the darkness, now. The tunnel, and the golden light coming from the armour. His blood.

It was lucky he did not have a bad concussion, but then, he looked to be quite hard-headed.

“Just came to check how you were feeling, Captain,” he said with a tired half-smile, hooking his right hand on his belt. “I’ll leave you--”

“There you are!!” Gabriel bellowed. The Lieutenant turned around straightaway, blocking the doorway completely. “Bloody hell, I’ve searched everywhere.”

“All right,” she sighed. Having so many loud people around her made her head ache even more than her ribs. “Get inside already and don’t shout.”

The three of them exchanged pleasantries in a quite civilized manner until Gabriel crossed his arms in front of the large German, his best thinking face on. She would have offered the Lieutenant a chair, seeing that his good eye wrinkled in pain every now and then, but it was quite likely it would not hold his weight.

“So you wanna join Overwatch in your General’s place,” he pursed his mouth. “Computer, mission briefing, yesterday night, Captain Ana Amari’s mission.”

The metallic voice recounted their landing, her orders. Then switched to visual mode, to the cameras the Strike Team had installed within their equipment. Her warning about the building’s condition was perfectly clear, and so were his adamant shoves to the concrete until the workers could pour outside. 

She spied the Lieutenant’s face changing. It was there for a split a second, but she was trained to  _ see. _ To be fair, he did not make it difficult, wearing his heart on his sleeve as he did.

The ground broke under their feet. As she fell, the footage shook and went black. Then, movement. For a split second light reflected on a polished steel surface very close to the camera, then nothing but blackness. 

“Footage from Captain Amari ends here,” the computer said. “Showing footage from Chief Engineer Lindholm.”

Ana was watching the images of the ship and its defenses, but her mind was racing. The Lieutenant was on the other side of the room when they fell, yet he was by her side when she woke up--in a hole in a wall. All his injuries were on the same side, and her camera shook towards the right. Could it be that he--?  She touched her injured ribs and shook her head. Of course it could be.

“You charged at me to close the gap of our fall,” she snorted softly and he rubbed the back of his neck. “And then crashed into a wall. That’s why you are a wreck.” 

“Sorry about your ribs,” he made an apologetic face.

“But we were in a sort of tunnel when I woke up,” she frowned.

“Had to break through the wall, there was no ledge over the furnaces,” he shrugged a bit, lopsided, and winced. “Hammer helped a bit.”

Torbjörn’s footage ended with him exploding an Omnic that was firing against a hole in the ground and their rescue efforts. She made a thin line with her lips. The back of his armour was full of holes and dents, the engine devastated. That was not what she remembered.

“Your armour—“

“Barrier broke,” he offered, completing her thoughts. The idiot, she pinched her eyes. He shielded her with his body.

“Just, let me get this straight,” Jack ran a hand over his face. “You defied your superior’s order, and almost got both of you killed. It was sheer luck the civilians didn’t plunge down with you.”

The Lieutenant took the heat with his head high and his gaze low, until it was his turn to shoot back. 

“I was not going to let them die in an  _ oven _ , Captain,” his collected demeanor was only betrayed by the feral look in his eye. “They may have fallen with us, but I gave them an opportunity. Do you--”

“Out there we only have each other,” Gabriel intervened. “We cannot afford to be looking at our backs in case our teammates fail to protect us.”

“He did not fail to protect us,” Ana said in a very calm voice, hands crossed over her lap. He looked at her, surprised first and then grateful. “Computer, recount of civilians?”

“Thirty-four. Two casualties on the way back, two hundred and three casualties before the Strike Team arrived.”

“I’m not disputing the results,” Jack paced in front of her bed. She shifted on the bed, holding her midsection with a hiss; it was time for her painkillers. “But--”

“Computer, mission briefing, seventeen, twelve. Commander Reyes’ mission.”

“Computer, abort!” Jack huffed, cheeks turning a shade of pink. “That was nobody’s fault!”

“Of course it was,” she rolled her eyes. “And Torbjörn was almost permanently blinded.”

Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck, and leaned on a wall. She could almost see the cogs turning on his head. He was not that different, Gabriel. Always taking risks, always making sure things went according to plan no matter what--but usually not to save civilians. 

“Are you saying you vouch for him, Ana?” He said at last. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure that I’m tired and you won’t let me rest,” she scratched the bed covers with her short fingernails for a moment. Then, she looked at the Crusader. “He’s not without flaw, but he protected the civilians and had my back at his own expense. What else do you expect from a rookie?”

The Crusader took the blow to his pride graciously, lowering his head and saying nothing. That was... unexpected.

“I think she’s right, Jackie,” the Strike Commander patted his second-in-command on the back. “We could assess him and then decide. Also,” he leaned on the Lieutenant’s good arm, a mischievous look on his face, “Lieutenant, do you know how to brew beer?”

The Crusader’s face lit up and he grinned as much as his battered face allowed him. 

“You really asking that of a German, Commander?”

“Fine, out of here, now,” she waved a hand, dismissing them. “Go bond to the mess hall.”

“Will visit later,” Jack sent her a little smile, still sulking after having lost their unofficial vote. 

“We would like to see your armour in action, when possible. No rush. We have a good idea of how you can fit in to the team, but want to assess you in person,” Gabriel grinned as they walked, all teeth. 

“Happy to discuss the armour’s capabilities before the assessment, Commander.”

“May not be a bad idea. Will send Jack your way tomorrow. But now, get back to Med bay and chill. Don’t escape the doctors again,” Reyes raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. “Shit, you were hell to find.”

  
  


As soon as they left, Ana asked the computer for her painkillers, and sighed in relief at the silence. She wished to get better soon so she could go see Fareeha. Maybe tomorrow. Or maybe she can ask somebody to bring her to the Med bay for a while. Yes, that could be—

Someone knocked at the door, quietly.

“Come in.”

She did not know whether to be annoyed or curious when the German pushed the door again. 

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“I just wanted to thank you,” he said, bowing his head. “Truly appreciate your kind words.”

“As I said, you are not without flaw,” she raised her eyebrows a bit, but her voice was soft. “But then, none of us are.”

His smile broadened, and he fumbled with one of the pockets on his cargo trousers. After a moment, he produced a pine twig. 

“I would have brought you flowers to wish you well, you know, but there’s just snow around, so…” He said, adding the twig to the vase with the others. “Hope you heal soon.”

Ana found herself wanting to genuinely smile, something that did not happen often.

  
  


\---000---

 

Reinhardt had promised the Strike Commander he would stay in his room but, instead, he walked past it. He was on the west wing of the building now, was he not? The Engineering Bay was close by.

If he went back to his room it was likely that the doctors would bolt the door to prevent him from escaping again, and there was something he had just realized about his armour. He barely remembered taking it off, and he wanted to make sure it was safe. Not just the suit itself, but the power units. If they had suffered any damage they could be leaking, and that could be disastrous. Not to say explosive.

The moment he opened his container, his heart sank. His armour --or what was left of it-- was hanging precariously from the clinches that kept it upright. The left shoulder pad was bent and torn in a way it did not resemble a gryphon any longer, and he could probably fit a finger on the scratches that covered half the chest plate. He took a bullet that had dug into the plating and tugged it out. There were more at the back, quite a lot, actually. He would need to have the whole section done, along with the totaled engine.

In any case, his throbbing injuries reminded him there would be time to worry about that later. For now, the power units should be the only concern.

He looked around for any tools he could use and noticed people around were looking at him.  Hopefully, he would be old news soon enough no matter how tall and bulky he was. He smiled politely, acknowledged some with a gesture of his hand, and went towards a workbench.

First, he would need to take care of the plating. Bent and broken in lots of places, he was not sure he would be able to take the power unit out of its screws and rivets. He would need the wrench with the funny head. Probably the fire-thing as well, to cut off the plate that he could not remove.

Back at the suit and with heap of various tools at his feet, Reinhardt worked on dismantling the power unit at the front. The left side of the cover was bent, and it took him a while to crack the bolts to get it out. The unit itself seemed fine and was easy to pull off; he just had to twist it in the right direction until he heard a  _ clack _ , but the connectors were just too small for his fingers. He growled, twisting his wrist in the hole as much as it went, but there was no chance. If only he could--

A small robotic arm, not thicker than a twig, popped up by his fingers. It patted him so he would move away and then it pulled the connector off. Then, it unhooked the unit completely and disappeared.

The sudden weight on his injured arm made Reinhardt hiss and drop the unit. Thankfully, after some dramatic fumbling, he managed to grab it with his other hand before it hit the floor. He let go a long relieved sigh and looked around to see the Chief Engineer by his side.

“When my minions told me you were here I could not believe it,” Torbjörn looked at him with raised eyebrows. “First, count me impressed. Second, you are a moron that should be resting.”

“The power units could be damaged, I--”

“I checked for leakage, heat, and power current. Once yesterday, once again this very morning,” for a moment, he looked smug, but then he just patted him on the leg. “Good to see you actually thought to secure them, anyway.”

“I can do some maintenance,” he left the unit on the ground and blew some hair away from his face, tired and aching everywhere. “Replace the plating and some parts, check the engine, keep the parts clean and greased as required...”

When he looked back, the engineer had set a ladder against the side of the armour suit and was peering inside, naming everything he could see- and some things Reinhardt couldn't even name himself.

“Aha! I knew there was something that allowed you to control the engine easily,” his voice echoed from inside the armour, where he was now.

“Hadn’t you check it twice already?” Reinhardt snorted and sat on the ground, leaning on the side of the container. It was cold, and he turned his head to rest his battered face against it--carefully.

“Never,” a finger showed up from behind the chest piece. “Not without your permission.”

Reinhardt was about to comment that he had not actually given him permission, but he closed his eye instead. He really did not mind, and he owed the short man big-time already -- that, not having into account that he would need him or his team to help him get the plate back into shape and someone to check the electronics for him.

“How do you survive in here during the hot weather?” Torbjörn’s voice sounded both surprised and indignant. “Actually, I don’t even know how you survive, period. It seems to be a tight fit, extreme in temperature. And it must weigh a ton.” 

There was a loud thud of feet reaching the ground, and then some beeps and clicks. 

“The back could use additional reinforcements, to help you distribute the weight of the engine better across the back and hips. These fluffy decorations are preposterous, by the way.”

He went on, and on, praising this and hating that, until he said  _ helmet _ and Reinhardt gave up listening.

“Ah, there you are, you rascal. See that rug of a man there? Yep, off you go.”

Something collided with one of Reinhardt’s legs, making him open his eye. A small robot with a couple of arms and a tracked chassis was carrying a bottle of water and a little box with the symbol of the Med bay on it.

“For me?” 

“Yes. Don’t you dare and die in my bay before I get this mess sorted,” he snorted, and dug a couple of bullets off the engine. “You, sir, are a handful.”

“It would seem so,” he sighed, opening the box. There were four little pills, so small Reinhardt had to overturn the box on his hand and take them all in one go. No way he could pick them up.

“Just give me a couple of days,” the short man continued. “Heal up, settle. I’ll keep in touch. May need your input on a couple of things. By the way, I’m not very good at gewgaws,” he pointed at the armour ornaments. “I make useful, usable pieces of engineering.”

“I truly appreciate your help, my friend, but I don’t need a new armour.”

He needed half of it repaired, though. But he could not bear the thought of getting rid of the old parts. The gryphon’s ornaments were the pride of his Crusader unit, Balderich’s emblem. That was all he had left of his friends. Of  _ him _ .  

“Not new. Improved,” he grinned. “Sturdier.”

“Or a helmet.”

“Ah, I would kick you if you weren’t hurting already. Why are you so damned adamant against it?” The engineer stood in front of him, hands on his hips and all scowl.

“Too hot, hair, and I’m blind enough,” he said, raising a finger for each. “Did I say too hot?”

The short man seemed to ponder about it for a moment. He pushed some buttons on the metallic-thing he wore on his arm, displaying a little screen, and nodded.

“I couldn’t care less about your hair, but I’ve got some good ideas for the real problems. We’ll do some tests, eh? You cannot be admitted to Overwatch with a broken armour. The Strike Commander would want to see you in action.”

Reinhardt took a deep breath and rubbed his good eye with a hand. He felt weak, bone-weary. Yet, he pushed all that away and nodded. Torbjörn was offering help freely and generously, too, considering they had barely met and it would cost him lots of work hours. It would be extremely rude to turn him down.

Maybe he could store the pieces until he could find someone that could repair them --or make them anew. Yeah. That sounded like a good idea.

“I’ll help you as I can, then,” he said, leaning his head against  the container again. Not only was it right to help someone who was helping him so much, but it also gave him purpose and kept him in active. “But later, if you don’t mind.”

“You rest for now. Probably at somewhere more comfortable than the floor of my rather-clean- but probably-still-not-very-hygienic bay, though.”

“Can’t move,” he slurred, his tongue weighing more than his armour. One of the pills he had taken was dragging him under. 

 

\---000---

  
  


Three days later, Ana was discharged from Med bay with strict orders not to overdo it--at least for a week. That meant no running, no weight-lifting, and no missions until she was completely cleared. 

That also meant, unfortunately, that she could catch up with paperwork. She was responsible for a bunch of soldiers--their training, their goals, their development as snipers. She sighed. At least, she would have more time for Fareeha, even if she could not carry her. 

Someone knocked at the door of her small office and came through. It was Gabriel, carrying a mug of hot chocolate in hand. 

“Bringing gifts is not your style,” she raised an eyebrow when he gave her the mug.

“Jack says hi,” he half-smiled. Then, he produced a little bag from one of the pouches of the hoodie he was wearing. A bag with a doughnut. “This, believe it or not, was my idea.”

“What do you need help with?”

The Strike Commander paced by her side, chuckling. Ana took a piece of the doughnut; it was freshly made, soft and with a cracking layer of thin sugar on top. Nice of them to remember how to bribe her.

“We’ll assess the Lieutenant. Though you may want to come by? You’ve seen him in action.”

“Don’t,” she pointed at him. “He cracked his skull. Three days is not enough to heal that, and nanites are no good for the head.”

“He seems fine to me?”

She put down the remaining half of the doughnut, then glared at him. Gabriel crossed his arms, tapped his fingers on his bicep, and cleared his throat.

“What I meant is that we could see the tests Torb is running on the armour. They’ve been fixing it up.”

“They?” Ana picked up her present again and dipped it in the hot chocolate. “He’s been helping? And you let him?”

“Worrying about people is Jack’s job,” he raised his hands asking for peace. “I run the rest of the base.”

She rolled her eyes. Sometimes she wondered how they had survived for a year as a group-- and as a base. It was not a matter of being good at their jobs--which they were, of course, but rather of being bad, random, and awkward at everything else. And she included herself that bunch, even if she had managed to be the voice of reason of the team so far.

“I’ll go with you before you get him killed--or he kills himself,” she sighed. Well. At least it was not paperwork, and she got a nice breakfast for free. 

  
  
  


They walked to the engineering bay chatting about the facilities. In truth, Gabriel did a great job at keeping everything running efficiently bearing in mind the amount of time he had to spend talking to the UN board. He had told them of her success saving civilians in the last instance, and the recruitment of their newest member, too. They seemed pleased, which was always good--it meant money, and money meant they could keep on fighting and helping people. 

When they arrived, Ana saw they had cleaned up a lot of space in the bay, piling work benches and other equipment to one side. There were several lines marked on the ground that held no meaning for her and, in a corner, the Lieutenant was suited up in what looked a mashed-up half-armour. Big chunks of the internal and external plating were missing, and she could see half of his right leg and part of his left shoulder and arm. Bits and pieces were rough and unpolished as if they had just come out from the forge, standing out from the overly-decorated originals. Funny enough, he was wearing a rounded helmet with what seemed like a sort of visor. Several very-much-unfinished cables dangled to the sides of his exposed neck, attaching the helmet to the armour somehow.

A thick black cable was connected to the middle of the chest piece while another one hooked just beneath the engine. They were suspended from the ceiling like oversized hoses, mounted on rails so they could move, trembling when the engine roared into life, ungeared. 

Ana and Gabriel reached the large box where Jack was sitting, suited for combat. His rifle and visor were nowhere to be seen, which made Ana cock her head. Maybe they did not plan to shoot at the Lieutenant, after all. Maybe they just wanted to have some sort of macho display of fists and muscles. She did not know what was worse, though.

“You’ve not suited up, Gabe.”

“Assessment’s been cancelled,” the Commander jumped stupidly high thanks to his enhanced super-soldier body and joined his friend atop of the box. Bastards. She humphed and went looking for Torbjörn. He was on a metallic platform from where he could see practically everything around, holding a device covered in buttons of some sort. 

“I see you have been having fun,” she told him, and the engineer grinned.

“Glad to see you back on your feet, Captain,” he saluted briefly. “And yes, we’ve been doing some experimenting.”

He produced a comm unit for her from one of his pockets and she equipped it. The Lieutenant seemed to be standing idly, but she could see the fingers of the armour twitching--first randomly, then in order. Then they flexed, forming large fists.

“What are you testing?” 

“All of it. I practically dismantled the whole thing and put it back together.”

“Gabriel said the Lieutenant is helping you.”

“When he’s not passed out on the ground like an oversized bag of potatoes, yes,” he chuckled, and Ana tried hard not to hide her face in her hands. “He knows more than I gave him credit for and that has speed up many design points.”

“You made him a helmet.”

“Please, a tactical visor. A hearing enhancement. It has comms, ventilation. Even music, if he feels inclined,” the short man raised a finger for each, then turned towards the armour. “Hey, how’re things there?”

“Back plate is overheating,” they heard the Lieutenant say. The audio was cracking, actually, but Ana guessed it was due to the helmet being halfway done. “Arms seem a bit stiff.”

“That may be you and not the armour, Lieutenant.”

“Captain! Glad to see you around,” he laughed heartily and turned around, flexing his bulky armoured arms at her and walking in a little circle so she could appreciate the work.

“Right. We’ve got them all here already. You think you can do a demonstration?” Torbjörn’s voice sounded proud, confident. “I have some dummies ready.”

“Of course!” He chuckled at the comm, excited.

Torbjörn’s pressed a couple of buttons, and a hatch in the wall furthest to their left opened up. Three robots of different sizes popped out. They were no more than a chassis with wheels and a plate, although one of them was thicker, bulkier. With a nudge to another button, the robots rolled to different places marked with crosses on the ground. 

The Lieutenant walked as far as the cables allowed him, placing him around ten feet from the first robot. They were roughly on a line and, way behind them, there was a concrete wall that marked the end of the engineering bay. Ana crossed her arms. The amount of space suggested they intended to test the charge indoors at some point, which may not be a great idea. Still, she trusted the engineer. He knew his job, the risks, and the challenges. If he thought they could do this in a safe, controlled manner, she would say nothing about it.

What intrigued her was the number of robots. Why three?

“Ok, let’s do this. I see all green here, Reinhardt. Thoughts?”

“All green here, too. Let’s see if it’s true,” he chuckled, bending to retrieve the rocket hammer from the ground. He jumped on site a couple of times, the heavy suit clanking against the slatted floor, and then off he went.

The ground trembled literally as he ran, hammer in hand. Hydraulics or not, watching him move that weight was nothing sort of impressive. He swung the hammer--which was likely to weigh the same as Ana-- without stopping, and the robot exploded into pieces that flew off over Jack and Gabriel’s heads, reaching the other side of the bay. In front of him, at more than twenty feet, was the next robot, but he stepped to his right, balanced the hammer for an instant and freaking threw it as if was nothing. 

It made a hole on the wall, taking half of the third robot with it. 

“Holy shit,” Ana heard one of the boys over the box say, but the Lieutenant was not done. The engine at his back roared and she grabbed the rails of the platform. 

The Lieutenant charged the remaining robot. He pinned it effortlessly with his forearm and kept heading forward. The thick main feeding the back of the armour disconnected with a rain of sparks as he crashed the poor thing against the wall. 

Just--he did not actually crash. He merely bounced back with a loud thud of metallic boots on the floor. Ana frowned. Not that she wanted him to slam against a wall, but that was unexpected. There was no dent in the armour or in the helmet that she could see. The robot was crushed. She still could not believe it. 

“Aaand that’s just half the power of the engine,” Torbjörn put his hands on his hips, grinning at Ana. “He should be able to halve a Bastion at full power--if he hasn’t blown it to smithereens with that hammer first, that is.”

“You are really invested in this.”

The Lieutenant patted the helmet. The audio cracked and frizzed, and suddenly they could hear him.

“Was it any good?” He said, turning towards the broken pieces at his side. He went to pick the hammer from the ground and grunted in pain, letting it fall flat again.

“All good there, my oversized friend?” Torbjörn walked down the platform, and Ana found herself following him. She watched the large armour walk slowly towards the main that had disconnected from its chest and plug it again. 

“Charging may have not been the best idea,” the Lieutenant chuckled on the comm, voice strained as he walked slowly towards them.

“Ah, but it was impressive, I assure you. We’ll get you more meds in a moment.”

“When did you adopt him, Torb?” She asked, eyebrow raised. “It is not like you to collect lost things.”

“Ah, the other night we had some beers,” he waved a hand. “He’s a good chap, silly as hell. He can use a chance.”

The Lieutenant had stopped in front of them by the time Ana and the engineer reached Gabriel and Jack, and he took the helmet off with a large hand. It was still hooked with cables, so he let it dangle over his chest. The bruise was changing colours already, but the blond stubble did not hide the overall tiredness on his face or how his eyes wrinkled every now and then. 

Ana pursed her lips; she should make Gabriel to sort the Med Bay as soon as possible. They were short of everything--starting with funding, and ending with drugs and nanites, That really impaired the ability of the non-super-soldiers to be operative again quickly after injury.

“Well, well, impressive, Lieutenant,” Gabriel clapped his hands a couple of times, breaking the silence that had descended over them. “I, for one, was not expecting you to be a killing machine.”

“A crushing machine, maybe,” he looked down for a moment, humble but pleased. “My aim was a bit off, unfortunately.”

“It was fantastic. Jackie here will be delighted to do your assessment,” he patted him on the shoulder, and Jack looked at him as if he had committed the worst crime in history.

“Not now,” Ana crossed her arms. 

“Not now, not now. Jack definitely will need to train quite a lot if he wants a chance,” he burst out laughing, and Jack put an arm around his neck with a terrible, murderous smile painted on his face.

“Oh no, both of us will be training,” he squeezed the Strike Commander’s neck. “But, didn’t you have a shield, Lieutenant?”

“Barrier is not operative at the moment, I’m afraid,” he raised his left arm slightly, where parts were missing.

“We didn’t have time to prepare it all, you guys were impatient to see him in action,” Torbjörn crossed his arms.

“Were they, now?” She made a thin line with her mouth, and Jack pushed Gabriel towards her, mouthing  _ his fault _ . Of course it was. The Strike Commander just shrugged. “I suggest we wait at least a week before we have this conversation again, during which there will be no assessments and no strenuous tests on the armour while it is half-done.”

He was her Commander and she would rather not kick him in the nuts in front of others, but he deserved it. Irresponsible little shit. She deserved more than one doughnut.

“Agree,” the Lieutenant half-raised a hand. When the rest stood in silence, he continued. “It’ll help the assessment, I think.”

“Ah, to hell with the assessment,” Gabriel rolled his eyes and put a hand on his hip, theatrically. “You’ll have a three-month probation period, which is more than enough time to get that armour fixed and some Omnic arses kicked as assessment. Anyone disapprove? No? Then welcome to Overwatch, Lieutenant Wilhelm.”

There he went again, all rush. Ana snorted but, before she could mentally disapprove of his methods as the situation required, the Lieutenant dropped to a knee.

“Thank you,” he said, all solemnity. “I swear on my Crusader vows I will not disappoint you.”

Torbjörn clanked his metallic arm work-aid against the armour, and the Strike Commander boomed:

“Let’s celebrate!”

 


	2. Oct 2046

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rein gets to meet someone very special in Ana's life.

That night was one of those rare nights when half the Strike Team was on the base and, when that happened, they always insisted on having dinner together. Chill watching a film, maybe. Or have some beers at the canteen. Ana was not exactly excited about their gatherings, since they always ended up talking about work anyway, but it was better to show up and leave early than have them pestering her all the time. 

The canteen was a well-illuminated rectangular room, painted white with a green line near to the ceiling. At the side, there was a bar with stools, where Reinhardt was already waiting. The German was always on time, even early and, with those camouflage cargo pants and a black t-shirt, he looked like a tank from his motherland--as bulky and strong. He bowed the moment he saw her, a grin on his face.

“Captain!”

The other ladies in the room send Ana hateful glances, which always made her purse her lips to contain a laugh. It was beyond ridiculous that they were jealous of her.

Reinhardt waited for her with his hands on his hips until she was close enough to offer her a stool. 

“I’m glad you joined us,” he leaned on the bar once she took her sit, then ran a hand over his golden mane. 

“Jack is very insistent when he sets his mind on something,” Ana picked up her long hair and braided it over her shoulder with quick movements. “Is something the matter, Lieutenant? You keep staring.”

“You are so beautiful I cannot help myself,” he chuckled, looking away and burying his face in his mug. Did she see pink on his cheeks? 

“Wait. I didn’t know you could get embarrassed,” she crossed her arms, looking at him intently now.

“Ah, make fun if you may,” he brought his stool a bit closer to hers. “I was actually wondering about the drawing under your eye. You never talk much about yourself.”

“Not much to say, in truth,” she said, picking up a discarded datapad that was lying at the bar. “The tattoo is the eye of Horus, an Egyptian symbol of protection and good health. My parents had it done to me when I was run over by a car--it’s served me well all these years.”

“Oh, I see,” he looked sheepish for a moment, then finished his mug. “I thought you painted it every morning.”

“It would smear every time I used the rifle,” she made a small gesture with a hand. Then, she checked the datapad--a message. “Jack won’t come, after all. Well. I think I’ll go back to my quarters.”

“What--but, wouldn’t you have dinner with me, at least?” Ana froze at the hurt tone, and he took her silence the wrong way. “Ah, well,” he rubbed the back of his head, “I didn’t realize the prospect was that terrible.”

“It’s nothing personal,” she said, a bit surprised that she had to actually make the point. “I’m tired and still have things to do, that’s all.”

“It’s fine, no need to explain,” Reinhardt leaned his back on the bar, and blew some hair away. He was smiling, even if it did not reach his eyes. “Rest, Captain. I’ll see you at briefing time.”

She pursed her lips. If she had learned something about him in the months they had been working together, it was that he liked having company. He would rather be with any of them doing something he did not like than being left to his own devices. Ah, she almost sighed. One of the things she disliked about Overwatch was that she had ended up caring about her comrades. She tried not to, she really did, because people died in wars and she already had seen more than enough death to fill several lifetimes. The last thing she wanted was to see dead even more people she cared about, but...

Jack would worry about everyone, making sure they were tucked on their beds every night. Gabriel spoiled them rotten with fast-food, ice-cream, and beer on movie nights. Torb would rework their weapons and armour to perfection even during his spare time so they were safe on the battlefield. And Reinhardt--he could make the three guys roll on the ground with laughter. He could make her smile more frequently than any other. 

She hated the thought of getting close to any of them but, as selfish as it was, she did not want to lose those little things that made her life bearable. Ana looked at the big oaf, making a thin line with her mouth. As little as she liked it, maybe it was time to give him something in return, let him know her biggest secret--a secret the rest of their unit already knew.

“I need to go visit somebody before getting to my room,” she said, putting her hands on the pockets of her wool overcoat. “There’s some food there, I think, but may be a bit bland for your t--”

“Really?” He started very enthusiastically, but ended the word hesitantly. “No need to, Captain. It’s fine.”

He was going to make her say it, right? Yes, he was.

“It’s an order, Lieutenant,” she raised an eyebrow, and measured her next words carefully, to use them as bait. “It’s time you meet her.”

“Meet who?”

“Come and see.”

  
  
  


“I don’t think I’ve ever been to this side of the building,” Reinhardt said, looking around as they walked. 

Ana had felt weird every time she had walked those corridors with her other team members, and this time was no exception. They all took it well, though, so there was no real reason to get nervous--other than because she was revealing her private life, and thus making her vulnerable.

She pushed the last door between them and their destination and heard him take a sharp intake of breath.

“Captain, you--” the large German looked at her in awe. She half-smiled but said nothing, walking a bit faster to get inside before he did.

The nursery was a squarish room with shelves full of stuffed toys and fable books. The walls were splotched with butterflies, flowers, cute animals and cars with eyes--same as the little tables and chairs that were now gathered on a corner. A huge stuffed robot served as clothes-hanger; princess dresses, cowboy hats and robot suits dangled on its many arms.

Ana liked the place. It had been a bit lacking when she joined Overwatch, but she was not the only parent with infant children. Soon the caretaker asked Gabriel for a budget to liven up the nursery, and the kids loved the change. It was actually great coming there and not seeing just white and grey, for a change.

In front of the gathered tables and chairs, there was a door with a huge sunflower painted on it, almost closed. Being quite late already, Nana sure was getting the little ones to sleep already. 

Ana opened the door slowly in case it made a sound and found Nana’s eyes straight away. She was around her age, long dark hair always picked in a thick braid at her back--or, she joked, it would eat her up like a troll. 

Several little heads popped up from their cots to look at them and there was Fareeha, looking at them with large golden almond eyes. Ana walked towards her with soundless steps and picked her up, her soft dark hair making her nose tingle. She was such a good baby girl, never complaining, never crying when she got her up--even though Ana could barely spend time with her. 

Seeing her only once a day hurt in a way she could not even begin to explain. 

She turned towards the large German, just to see him struggling to keep a straight face, eye glinting. Ana closed the door behind them and snorted slightly; she could not believe he had kept quiet for this long.

“Well, say what you may,” she sat on one of the little chairs while the Lieutenant lowered himself to the ground near her feet. “Her name is Fareeha.”

“She’s the cutest thing, ever!” He grinned. “Hello, little Captain,” he touched her back, slowly, and Fareeha looked behind her. “Ah, she looks just like you!”

Ana hummed and the little one bopped the German on the nose, which made him dissolve in chuckles. 

“How do you do it? Have her, train, fight with us… It’s amazing,” he looked at her in awe while offering a finger to Fareeha to play with. 

“It doesn’t feel like that,” she sighed, sitting Fareeha on her knees. She was sleepy and yet she wanted down. Ana let her go on her little legs and watched her run towards the large stuffed robot. “But thanks.”

He laid on the ground and stretched, his hands almost reaching the girl. She could see the gears in his mind turning, and waited for the inevitable question --or questions-- but none came.

“Now I understand what keeps you always so busy,” he wiggled his fingers at Fareeha, who put a cowboy hat over them. “Bet nothing can compete with her.”

Ana wished that was true. She tried so hard to be a good Captain and a good mother, but sometimes it was just not possible to do both. She had to leave headquarters for long periods just like anyone else, always afraid Fareeha would not remember her when she was back.  _ If _ she came back.

“All I want is to build a better world for her,” she said in the end, weariness seeping into her bones. 

“Play,” Fareeha chirped, patting the hat.

“Ah, ah, if you want to play, you come here first, little miss,” Reinhardt looked at her upside down, hands extended and grinning like a maniac, and she giggled. She had a magic wand in her hand, and ran towards him either to turn him into a frog or a prince charming.

Hat discarded, the Lieutenant picked her up as if she was nothing, making her fly over one of his hands. 

“Shoot some stars, pew, pew!”

“Pew, pew, pew!” She was like a little airplane going up, down, and everywhere his arm reached.

“Whenever I’ve said you have never grown up, I didn’t imagine it was this literally,” Ana smiled from the little chair, her face in her hands. Fareeha had her arms extended as if they were little wings, giggling. It was going to be hell to get her to sleep now, she thought, but seeing her this happy made it all worthwhile.

“Big one for mommy?” He bopped her nose with his little finger, and she started making big circles with her whole arm while making noises. “Well done! Have some rest, now. Flying is tiring for little princesses.”

He put her down on his chest and yet she still waved the wand happily, giggling every now and then.

“I had a little sister. We played lots,” he said, keeping the little hands busy when she attempted to hit him in the face with her dazzling weapon. “Ah, that sounded like-- _ Nein _ . She went to the UK with mom when my parents divorced. I was sent to boarding school, then.”

“That’s how you ended up with the Crusaders?”

“The army came looking for recruits when I was sixteen. The Crusaders formed years after that,” she could not see his face, but his voice sounded relaxed. For all he talked, Ana realized she did not know about his life. But stories about his battles and Germany? She had heard hundreds of those by now. “Ow, ow, not the hair, you evildoer,” he picked her up by the clothes on her back and blew raspberries on her tummy. 

Ana felt the corners of her mouth tugging into a little smile. She liked to play with her daughter, but those things Reinhardt was doing with her? They were impossible for her. She was too serious, too strict. Maybe she had just forgotten how to have fun at that level, how to connect with playful children. Maybe she never knew how to do it in the first place.

The large man picked Fareeha up once more, settled her effortlessly on one of his arms, and got up. 

“I think this little yawning bundle is yours to put to bed, Captain,” he smiled, running a hand through his hair to get it back into an acceptable shape. 

“She likes you,” she said, picking her up and leaning her against her chest. “More than Torb, I think. And he was her favourite.”

“Of course,” he flexed one of his bulky arms, chuckling. “But I’ll leave you now. I’m starting to see this little darling as hamburger meat. Hmmm, so soft and tender,” he ate one of her little fingers and cackled.

“Fine. You are dismissed, but don’t eat anyone on the way,” Ana hid a chuckle on her daughter's hair, and shook her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at http://nyaarr.tumblr.com/ and send me your head-canons for Ana, Rein, or Anahardt! 
> 
> It would also be great to have someone to bounce ideas with, and that help me beta the story ;)


	3. Nov 2046

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rein likes Ana. Not that we didn't know it already, but...

When Overwatch received a call to assist the German army, it was logical that the Strike Commander would call Reinhardt to be on the team. The only thing the team knew when they took off was that a terrorist group had taken hostages in Stuttgart. The police's efforts were not enough and, even if the army wanted to help, they were stretched thin with the Omnics already.

The mission should have been easy. First, jump into the building from their ship. Reinhardt’s armour would break through and thus open a way in. Gabriel and Jack would follow, find the hostages and kick some arse. They were not talking about Omnics here, just some random thugs trying to extort the Government. All in all, it would have been easy, if not for a little _complication;_ One of the supposed terrorists wore a power armor and a huge hammer-- and by all accounts the colours of the Crusade all over him. Without the helmet, it was easy for Reinhardt to see who he was--Adalgar, a lost brother, found again. But that brother was a terrorist killing for money and to screw with the Government.

Reinhardt tried to talk to him, anyway. Reason. Offer him a way out. It was a brother-in-arms, after all, one that should have been dead with the rest of their unit. They had laughed and bleed together, he took the same oath he did-- surely he could see reason... but his Adalgar's hammer talked for him.

They fought, two titans in a suit exchanging blows that could demolish buildings. Reinhardt’s improved armour was sturdier, though, but he was not fighting to win. He did not want to hurt him, he wanted to take him back home... but Adalgar used his kindness to crush his right knee and disable him.

Gabriel and Jack, who had been punching the light out of the rest of the terrorists, almost did not see the Crusader charging towards them. They dodged in the last second, and Jack almost did not had time to kick a grenade to the other side of the room before it blew them and the hostages to pieces.

Just when Gabriel had a clear headshot, Reinhardt charged his old comrade. Hammer in hand, he used its shaft and the charge's momentum to go for his exposed throat.

The terrorist's gurgling when he broke his trachea was anything but pretty.

\-------------------------  


“Get to Med bay,” Gabriel told Reinhardt once they landed in HQ. “Don’t trust Jack with your leg--you’ll end with a limp. I know what I’m talking about.”

The blond super-soldier rolled his eyes and hung his rifle on his back.

“Ingratitude. That’s all I get for my efforts, as usual,” Jack said, absolutely theatrical. Then, he clapped Reinhardt on the shoulder. “Sure you don’t want that beer?

“I’m good, thanks," he said, not even looking up.

“Don’t give it much thought, pretty boy,” Gabriel ran a hand through Reinhardt’s blonde mane, messing it all the way. “Any of us would have done the same.”

Reinhardt gritted his teeth and got up. Rubbish. His words were absolute rubbish, and he had been fooled enough today for a lifetime. He was so angry and disappointed that he barely felt the pain in his leg as they disembarked. The two super-soldiers kept chatting, trying to include him in the conversation despite of his hermetic silence, and Reinhardt slowed down his limping until he managed to lose sight of them near Med Bay.  The moment they were gone, he headed for the gym.

The punching bag didn’t know what hit it. Reinhardt was a bloody idiot for trusting blindly, and Adalgar was a bloody traitor and one of his fucking brothers. How dare he? _How could he?_ The chains that held the bag in place groaned at the punishment until they finally snapped. The bag fell to the ground and Reinhardt jumped to avoid it. His knee shot daggers down his leg when he landed, and Reinhardt tumbled backward until he found himself sat on one of the machines; the bench press.

That would do, too. Brute strength training and fighting gave his destructive instincts a way out every time he needed it.

Reinhardt grabbed the barbell that was already set up --it was not heavy enough for him, but he was not walking all the way towards the weights and back-- and he pushed it up. Again. And again. And if his muscled burned, he pushed them harder.

 --------

 

With a last push, Reinhardt put the barbell into its hooks. Then, he let his arms fall to his sides, weighing a ton each. Raising a hand to take the sweaty hair off his face was an incredible effort, and he almost laughed. He would kill for some water, but he needed to rest before even trying to get up. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breath, his emotions spent with his energy.

Someone sat by his side, and he tensed involuntarily. He had not heard any sound or footsteps but, if that someone wanted him dead, he would be already.

"Reinhardt," Ana called him, her voice low.

Shit no. Not her, not now. He said nothing, hoping that she would just take the clue and leave him be. When he almost thought he had won the battle, she squeezed his injured knee. Hard. Sharp pain lanced through his leg and he bolted upright with a yelp, squirming away from her.

“Was that really necessary?" He asked between teeth, digging his fingers into the thigh.

“You're injured and yet at the gym,” she said with a long, disapproving breath. “You deserve what happens to you.”

“Bench-pressing doesn't hurt, unlike your small fingers,” he frowned, then looked away. He did not want to see the disappointment in her eyes.

"Come to Med Bay, let the doctors have a look"

"I'm fine. Jack took care of it."

“Please,” she rolled her eyes. “You want to limp for the rest of your life?”

"Captain, I--"

“Hush,” she put a hand on his arm and sat by his side. He took a deep breath, annoyed by her perseverance but unable to get up and walk away. “Jack told me what happened. I’m sorry.”

He did not know what to say. He was sorry, too. And angry. And disappointed. And then, not that sorry anymore and just frustrated with himself.

It was a blessing that he was exhausted.

“You are still conflicted about what happened,” she looked at him with that expression that said she could read him like it was nothing. Argh. He rubbed the back of his head. “Don’t panic. I won’t ask you to talk about it.”

Her words took a weight out of his shoulders, but also made him frown.

“You came to pick on me, then?”

“I’m here to shred you to pieces and throw your limbs to the lions,” Ana said with a straight face,  glare and all. “But then, I think you’ve done a good job yourself already,” she pointed at his raw knuckles. _Raw_ knuckles. He had not even noticed them.

“Ah, the bag got it much worse,” he snorted, a bit proud of himself, and she rolled her golden eyes. There was no disappointment in them, no anger. That made him bold. “You think I screwed up?”

“I think you did what you thought best with the information you had.”

He liked her. He would admit it _to himself_ anytime, no problem. But he hated with a passion when she talked as if she contained the wisdom of the Universe and yet she would not reveal it. It was usually his fault for asking, though. At least, this time he was not completely clueless about what she meant.

“You could have said, ‘Yes, Reinhardt, you screwed up. Big time.’”

“See?” Ana chuckled, stretching her arms forward. Her wrist datapad flashed, but she put it to sleep with a flick of her wrist. “You are doing a magnificent work.”

He snorted, and she patted his shoulder.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have done the same, but that doesn’t mean it was not the right thing for you to do,” she continued.

“I could have gotten us killed.”

“He was your friend. It’s… understandable,” Ana laced her fingers, looking at the ground. There was something in her pose, a weight on her shoulders, but it disappeared as soon as she turned to look at him.

He would not have tried to talk had he not been his friend, that was for sure. A lost friend. Reinhardt rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe she was right. If another friend showed up, even after many years, he would not charge head-on to kill them without a word. How could he?

Maybe he would not try to convince them in close range. Maybe he would have a hand on his hammer, but sure as hell he would try to get things right again. That was their oath. Look out for each other, protect your family, fuck up your enemies.

Ana’s wrist datapad started flashing again, and she made a face.

“Let’s get you to the Med bay before Jack has a fit.”

“He’s a worrier.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she sighed. “Come on, up.”

Reinhardt got up forcing all his weight on his good leg. The knee protested as it straightened, cold and stiff after having been bent for a while, but that was nothing compared to putting weight on it again. He hissed. It would not be a bad idea to go to have it checked again, after all.

Ana sneaked under his left arm and held his weight as much as she was able to.

“You ok?” Her right arm half-circled his waist, and he bit himself inside the mouth to prevent a smile from creeping up. But she was so cute, _so small_ , that he could not help himself.

“Please carry me, Captain,” he gave up, his voice cracking as he laughed. Their height and weight difference was such that it would never work out, but he was so pleased to know that she cared that he hugged her against him. Her hair smelled of mint, and he grinned like a fool.

He liked her. He liked her _lots_.

“You big idiot,” she punched him in the ribs with her free hand. “I should totally let you fall to your face.”

“Don’t get angry, _maus_ , I’ll treat you to beer,” he chuckled, more at peace that he was while killing his arms on the press. “We’ll get Jack and Gabriel, too. I owe them. And Torb wouldn’t miss beer for anything.”

"Only if you can get to the canteen," she humphed.

"I'll crawl if I have to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this was rather short! Next one is longer, at least.
> 
> Edit-- two people called me up on my laziness while writing this chapter, and they're right. When I wrote it, I just wanted to the little interaction between Ana and Rein and... I did not work through the story as I should. I promised myself this would not happen again in any other chapter and, so far, I think I managed...


	4. Dec 2046

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rein bites more than he can chew.

Ana knocked at the door of Jack’s room and came in after hearing a throaty answer. He had caught something nasty in Singapore and was feeling terrible. It was quite strange for a super-soldier to get that sick, but he was a proper rug, a pale ghost with dark mark under his eyes and an oversized polar fleece on.

He had been confined to his rooms for days, working on paperwork and meetings to keep the base running while Gabriel was away with Torbjörn securing different places of the globe.

She raised an eyebrow at the sight of empty cups of tea littering the furniture. And papers, piles of paper.

“Hey,” he rasped, leaving some papers on his lap. His golden hair was either down or sticking up in the wrong places, his eyes sunk into his face. “All good?”

“I should be asking that,” Ana rubbed her hands together. It was cold at the base despite the heating--but then, it was absolutely freezing outside. “Still not getting better?”

“Not getting worse, either,” he shrugged, rubbing the stubble on his cheek. “Just bored of being here. Restless, if you know what I mean.”

“We could have a movies night after I get Fareeha to sleep,” she cocked her head. “With a blanket and lots of tea.”

Jack chuckled and coughed at all the same time.

“Ana, you proposing to socialize? Has the Christmas spirit rubbed off on you?”

“Silly,” she rolled her eyes and leaned on a desk full of papers. She barely cared about her own religion, and she was not going to care for another. “It’s technically almost New Year, anyway. _Your_ New Year.”

“Ah, don’t remind me. I don’t know how many papers and reqs I’ve seen regarding the party,” he sighed, and a shiver made him curl inside the fleece. “You know what? I love the idea of blankets and movies. Same room as always?”

“The one with the large couch, yes,” she tapped at the table. “Get enough food, I know of somebody that eats for the two of us.”

“Ah, you think Reinhardt would want to join us? Today, of all days?” Jack put all the papers aside and got up, straightening a bit his crumpled cotton pajama trousers. “I’d imagine he would be quite busy at the party.”

There was bitterness in his words despite his relaxed face. It was not long ago that Ana had noticed a subtle change on the base. The ladies, who were in a rough 30/70 ratio to the men, kept on staring longingly at the Overwatch promotional poster that Gabriel made Reinhardt pose for. She did not know what was more amusing, the poster or the ladies themselves. When she commented about it with Gabriel, the Strike Commander said that the only thing he knew was that Jack was extremely annoyed at the competency. That just made the whole business even funnier.

“I bet you’d rather he would not. Not used to having competitors, are you?” Ana smiled, playfully. “You just cannot believe there is someone taller, stronger, and with better hair than you.”

“Oh, don’t start. I’ve enough from Gabe,” Jack ran a hand through his messy blond hair and walked towards the sink.

“I won’t ask him if you’re uncomfortable, but he is very--How can I say it? He’ll hate us meeting and not telling him.”

“He’s emotionally insecure,” he snorted, splashing water on his face. “And you chicks dig that.”

Ana laughed at the idea of Reinhardt being insecure about anything. It was preposterous, just like Jack’s idea about what women liked. She did not correct him, thought, not wanting to chip his ego further. As he made himself barely decent, she poked her wrist datapad and called the German.

It did not take him half a ring to pick up.

“Captain! Such a nice surprise. Can I do anything for you?” He bellowed through the tiny speakers, his ever-present smile touching his voice.

“Jack’s feeling poorly, we’ll watch some films tonight, have dinner together. Would you--”

“YES.”

She snorted softly. He was impossible.

“There is a party at the canteen, in case you don’t know,” shew explained. “Don’t feel obliged--”

“No obligation! I love hanging around with you guys.”

“In two hours, at the Apollo XII meeting room.”

  
  


When Ana arrived at the meeting room she found that there was quite a lot of food on the table by the sofa. It was covered by a small plasma dome that hummed softly, half opaque with condensation. There was also a large cylindrical container with a label of ‘HOT’ plastered all over its circumference and a handful of mugs.

Strange enough, Reinhardt was not there yet. She draped the blanket she brought from her room over the sofa and turned to hit her nose against a wall.

“Ow, shit, what the--”

The wall grabbed her by the shoulders softly before she backtracked, and she found the missing mountain of a man just in front of her, looking apologetic and yet amused.

“Would have never imagined I could sneak up on you,” he chuckled softly, letting her go. “Sorry. Food was too tempting, so I went for a stroll.”

His rumbling stomach seemed to agree with his tale, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose. It was indeed strange he could sneak on her with his usually heavy footstep--

“Oh,” she raised her eyebrows at his fluffy white slippers, almost laughing at the sight. Thankfully she was very good at keeping her face straight. “I was definitely not expecting you to be the type to use these.”

She was not expecting they made fluffy slippers in that size, either. Fareeha had smaller stuffed animals at the nursery.

“They’re great! Soft and warm. I’ll get you a pair.”

“That’s very nice of you, but I’m good with mine,” Ana patted his arm and turned towards the sofa. It was large enough to hold two super-soldiers and someone else, but she was not that sure it would cope with Reinhardt. “Would you mind sitting there?”

“Now?” He moved when she nodded and sat at the very center--not without bumping into the table and the water cylinder first. She was quick to stabilize the later, and he sent her a grateful smile.

Ana had thought he was clumsy, at first, but it was not really that. He was a big guy surrounded by things not made for his height and weight. And, if that was not enough of a problem, the dents on several doorways --all at the same height, on the same side-- made her think sometimes he struggled to measure depth properly with his one eye.

The sofa made a pitiful sound, but it held. Unfortunately, there was not much space left to the sides for Jack and herself--until he put his bear arms around the back of the sofa with a sheepish face. She noticed then that his silhouette contrasted against the sky-blue of the sofa’s fabric. He was clad in black, wearing a long-sleeved turtle-neck black sweater and black jeans hugging his muscles. The longish hair was trapped in a low and messy ponytail, so it was just his slippers standing out from his attire.

It was not that he did not wear black on a regular basis--the suit he used under the armour was black and blue, for example-- but there was something sober about his looks that she could not pinpoint.

“Everything all right, Captain?” His voice brought her back to Earth, and her eyes snapped to his face. He was grinning like an idiot. “You seem distracted.”

“If you haven’t noticed yet, sometimes I over-analyze what is going on around me. Call it occupational idiosyncrasy,” she shrugged, sitting down at the border of the sofa. Maybe the date or the attire had some meaning for him, but since he seemed in good spirits she would rather not poke. “Have you thought about--?”

“Hey,” Jack’s raspy voice came from the door. He looked just as bad as two hours before if not worse, a checkered blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Ah, food is here too, grand.”

“Ah, you look like crap, Jack,” Reinhardt patted the empty space to his left. “Come here, my friend.”

To say Jack was not pleased with the sofa arrangement was an understatement, but he said nothing and sat all the same, curling himself and his blanket at the very corner.

They chatted amicably as they ate, not really dwelling on this or that for any length of time. Food was a fantastic blend of spices and textures; there were four dishes of beef that Reinhardt seemed to favour over anything else, veggie rolls, carrot batons, stuffed chicken, and of course, curry. Jack loved the curry, even if he barely ate a spoonful or two.

There was a big countdown over the speakers as the year slipped through their fingers, and Jack raised his tea mug.

“To our friends. Those out there, and those waiting for us,” he said, and they toasted.

A blanket of silence descended upon them. Before Ana could even think about her lost comrades --her previous family--, a large hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled at her. She heard a gasp coming from Jack and she managed to see him dragged into a bear hug as well. Reinhardt’s body was warm and strong, and as tense as if he was about to jump away.

"Ugh, you big bear," Jack groaned, squeezed at the other side of the Crusader's chest. "Can do with a lot less love."

"Thanks for tonight," he said, a quivering smile on his face. Ana snorted softly. All his emotions always flowed raw through him-- which was exactly why she did not want to pry about his choice of attire, but Jack had to be solemn.

“Computer, play a film," she heard him rasp, maybe realizing his mistake. “A _happy_ film."

The lights dimmed and the screen burst into life. The Crusader let them go with a sigh, hooking his arms at the back of the sofa. Jack scrambled to a more dignified position against his corner, draping his blanket tightly around his shoulders, and she arranged hers lazily over her legs. Her tea was lukewarm and sour already, but she drank to the last drop. Its bitterness reminded her about everyone she had lost; she tried to remember their faces as much as she could, something they liked. That made them feel a bit less far away, a bit less gone.

 

By the time she was finished, she had no idea what the film was about. It mattered not. She was alive and in good health, so were her new friends and Fareeha, and the thought anchored her to the present.

Her moment of peace and calmness was interrupted by a sudden snore, and she blinked. Jack was a sleeping checkered ball against Reinhardt’s side, the large man keeping him close. Warm. Safe.

She almost chuckled at the sight and took a picture of the scene to later blackmail Jack with it. Then, she noticed the German was smiling at her. Not with one of his goofy smiles, all teeth. Not boasting. It was warm and wanting. She had seen that look on his face many times at the canteen. Now she really laughed.

“Are you trying to woo me with that look, Lieutenant?” She whispered.

“Is it working?” His hand reached out to her hair. Her cheek. His touch was soft and gentle, almost reverent.

“Afraid you would need to do much better than that,” Ana settled herself better under her blanket, and he kissed her.

The first thing that crossed her mind was that Jack was there, but he was still snoring softly. The next, that he was really warm and that he was an experienced kisser; he teased her but let her breathe at the same time.

It was nice, she thought. He was nice--but not worth risking their unit.

“I’m not another of your conquests, Wilhelm,” she pushed him back, tucking her hair behind her ear. She knew the drill, it was quite common in the Army. Troops feeling lonely, homesick, tended to try find warmth among their colleagues. She had been there, too. And so had Jack, Gabe, and Sam. Oh, Sam. “You have a party full of ladies just at the end of the corridor.”

“You don’t understand,” he chuckled softly, biting at his lip. “I am the conquested one.”

“Ah, you sweet-talker,” she rolled her eyes and turned towards the screen. “Find someone that’s interested in your charms.”

“Captain--”

His tone sounded all the alarms -- _it’s not a joke anymore, it’s not a joke anymore!_ \-- and her head snapped back to him. He gaped for an instant like a fish out of water, and then he plastered a grin on his face and shifted, making Jack groan in his sleep.

“I just, eh, wanted to see if I could call you Ana,” he cleared his throat. “Like the others do. My apologies, Captain. Won't happen again.”

The screen was showing a dark sequence that barely illuminated them, and yet she saw him wink at her. Ana pursed her mouth, unconvinced--but she could not read him properly in the darkness. His large hand brushed her shoulder for an instant, then it retreated to the back of the couch.

“Maybe watch another film? One from scratch this time?”

She curled into her blanket, feeling a bit colder now. She was still unconvinced, but her better judgement told her not to pursue it or it would end in tears. His, most likely.

Sometimes she wished to be different. Sometimes she hated her cold heart and wished it would thaw and be driven by passions like most people--but that was just not her. She only saw inconvenient relationships when any other woman would tell Jack his arse was really nice and would hold Gabriel and kiss that stupid mouth of his.

With Reinhardt things were not different; curling into his arms forever, being safe and warm while he made her laugh--it was a dream come true… Just not hers.

Sam’s betrayal was too fresh on her over-rational mind-- and she had got her squad killed once already. She would not be pushed into a position where she had to choose again between someone dear to her heart and the rest.

She could not.

 

\--0000--

 

Finally, the film ended and Ana retreated to her quarters. Jack yawned loudly and sat down on the sofa, letting Reinhardt stretch his arms and back at last. He leaned over his knees and ran hand through his hair, undoing the ponytail completely. To say that the night did not go as he expected was an understatement, but he was the only one to blame there.

"I would never imagine you’d make for a decent couch," the super-soldier said at last, voice still thick with sleep. “Nor that you would vouch for a tactical retreat with Ana.”

Yeah, well. Not that he had much of a choice.

“You didn't see her face,” he ran a hand over his goatee. Oh, he had been rejected many times, slapped. Even punched! But he had never seen such a horrified expression before. As if the mere idea of engaging in something with him was the worst that could ever happen to her. Fuck.

“Don’t take it personally. She’s just not interested in anyone.”

He turned his head to look at him, frowning slightly.

“She shut me down, too,” Jack shrugged, and a shiver shook his whole frame for a moment. “She’s just-- She has a lot on her mind. I just moved on and learned to appreciate her as she is.”

Reinhardt rubbed the back of his neck, pondering his words. He knew she was somewhat closed to the world, living on her own bubble that mostly included Fareeha only. She was elusive and reclusive, difficult to reach--but she could also be sweet and caring. Funny, snarky. And too hot in those tight pants for him to breathe properly when she angled just right.

He already appreciated her for what she was. He just wanted to appreciate her more, and more closely. Make her laugh like Fareeha did. Kiss her eyes, her neck, her... everything.

A long sigh wrecked through him. There were many other girls at the base, he knew a bunch if not most of them, some quite well-- and all paled in comparison, just like an oasis full of water would not quench his thirst over a single dark beer.

“Oh man, you are really into her, aren’t you,” the soldier let go a long breath and tucked his legs under himself, effectively making himself a ball again. “There’s this req I picked up before we met--from a rocket-launching facility at Gibraltar that needs defending.”

“You’re asking me to flee?” Reinhardt gritted his teeth. “I’ve never given up a fight, and this one would not be any different.”

“I’m not asking,” Jack’s eyes twinkled. “I’m ordering you to get your things packed for tomorrow morning. With Torb out, you’re their best chance to resist their attack. If I kill two birds with one stone, it’s just because I’m a great deputy Commander.”

“She will think--”

“That you’re out on a mission. Which you will be,” he leaned back on the sofa and sighed. “Now get going. Don’t make me kick you out of here.”

“As if you could. I’m still waiting for that assessment,” he crossed his arms, stubborn, and Jack’s eyebrows quirked in a strange, murderous way.

“Wilhelm, just get the fuck out to Gibraltar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels an eternity since I wrote this chapter. Uh. Anyway, have I told you guys I really appreciate all your kudos and comments? No? I really do! Thank you!!
> 
> I still need a beta reader... I don't bite! I'm friendly! I like cats!


	5. May 2049

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rein has been deployed in Gibraltar I for three years, and Ana has not visited even once. Until now.

Reinhardt enjoyed the Spanish sun falling on British soil --or whatever the political nightmare was there in Gibraltar. When he was not actively deployed or needed, he always found himself a spot where he could lie and just _be_ for a while. It may seem strange, considering that the mainland was mostly occupied by Omnics, but he would take any little pleasures where he could find them. Besides, it was not like he had to be on his feet all day, nowadays.

His first year in Gibraltar had been the worst, with skirmishes and fights breaking out every few hours for months on end-- but they had managed, defending the rocket-launching facility with all they had. Not bad for a Lieutenant and a bunch of soldiers and turrets, if he could say it so himself.

Either Gabriel or Jack called several times a week to have a verbal report of affairs, even if the watchpoint always sent a briefing at night. The rest of the team usually popped on the calls when not deployed. They always ended up talking about trivial things; music, films, how was everything, how and how much of a bastard he was for being tanned.

Every now and then, someone would visit from HQ to refuel, ask for medical assistance, or just to chill for a while--and the visits ended up being so frequent that the UN council decided to expropriate the facility and convert it into the Watchpoint Gibraltar Overwatch base.

That only made the Omnics angrier, but they kept pushing them back.

The proximity alarm bellowing brought Reinhardt back from his daydream. He got up from his lazy spot and rushed to the hangar, leaping through the fences and avoiding by chance the few plants that grew there.

Rosa, his petite red-haired assistant, was already by his armour checking that everything was in order.

“Is everything looking good today, my little flower?” He boomed, taking his tank-top off.

“Isn’t it always?” She threw at him the upper part of his combat suit and rolled her eyes at the display of muscles--just like she always did. Reinhardt huffed when the turtle-neck black suit hugged his skin and put his sunglasses atop Rosa’s magnificent head of hair.

“For safekeeping,” he said, and the engineer stuck them in one of her pockets without mentioning his winking.

“Get in there, it’s all ready.”

They had done this hundreds of times; he jumped inside the armour and, between the two of them, the suit was closed and operational in the average two minutes ten seconds. Twenty seconds later, he was running in front of his unit.

The land around the rocket-launching base was completely barren due to the skirmishes and battles they had fought during the years, much like most of Spain. There used to be a large ridge of limestone at Gibraltar, but years of bombardments had leveled it to almost a mesa--which was good, since they had lots of visibility when Omnics attacked from any spot.

“How many bastions we have today, Captain?” Reinhardt asked. “I can only see a handful.”

“That’s all there is,” the voice seemed to shrug. “Orders: Disable them and bring them back. We can always use the spare parts.”

The members of his unit replied with different levels of enthusiasm and Reinhardt cackled, hands tightening on the rocket hammer. Ah, the tin cans would not see what was coming for them.

Soon the first shots started raining down. He deployed the barrier, which was the team’s cue to get behind him. They knew the drill and they were good at it; Reinhardt brought them safely to strategically placed boulders where the soldiers took cover and would wait for the whole team to be in place.

Once the last soldier was deployed, he grinned inside the helmet and charged the Omnics. They opened fire at him, but their light rounds rebounded against his armour. Reinhardt slammed his arm and shoulder against a bastion, propelling it against others and taking them down as if they were bowling pins. Charge stopped and faithful hammer in hand, he slammed a couple right on the head--and that was all. His team had already neutralised the rest where they laid.

“Aww, you guys are too good at this already,” he complained with a laugh. There was a time where he would take care of a handful robots by the time they destroyed one but, nowadays, they actually played along and hid so he could have his share of glory.

Of course, command disapproved, but was not that concerned as long as they would not play during the big battles.

Reinhardt looked around, trusting the visor on his helmet to reveal any possible threat, but he could not detect anything unusual. No heat forms, no short-waved electronic pulses. They were done.

  
  


Their return home was marked with jokes at the bastion’s expense. One of the soldiers kicked the head clean off a bastion and threw around, and they ended playing ball under the unforgiving sun until the Commander, with a roar on the comms, called to tell them to stop screwing around already.

Reinhardt hauled the disabled Omnics, turning the armour’s engine on in short bursts to make his life easier; the fuckers weighed a ton each, and he did not want to go back and fetch each of their arses individually in that heat.

At the end of the journey, his bad knee ached with each step. He did not give it much thought; it had trobbed under strain since it healed more than two years back, and the blasted sun cooking him alive in his armour was way more annoying. Bastions attacking at noon, _really_.

A strong gust of wind raised a cloud of dust that enveloped the team as they entered the base grounds; an aircraft hoovered over them, slowing down and landing at the other side of the building, just by the hangar. Reinhardt felt a smile creeping on him; he would recognize the roaring made-by-Torb engines anywhere.

Leaving the bastions piled inside their defences, he rushed to the landing path taking his helmet off on the way, and practically jumped inside the aircraft as the door opened.

“Gabriel!” He grabbed the unsuspecting Commander in a bear hug as he laughed. Ah, having visitors was the best thing ever.

“Put me down, you inglorious bastard,” He chuckled, punching the armour’s shoulder. “I’ve told you already, I’m not marrying you.”

“Ah, you hurt me,” he squeezed him enough to make him gasp for air. “I always thought we had something special.”

“Glad to see you’re still the same old silly,” someone said from the back of the aircraft, and Reinhardt let the Commander go straightaway, blood frozen on his veins. Ana raised a hand as a greeting; she was every bit as beautiful, composed, and lovely as she had ever been. “Guess you were not expecting me.”

It was not as if they had not spoken in those almost three years. Sometimes she joined the calls, made the odd joke or brought Fareeha with her --though the little cookie managed to sneak in a lot of times without her mother, funnily enough-- but most of the time she would not pop by.

She wanted nothing with him, that much was clear. Nothing at all. But, while he respected her decision, he also missed her chuckles and her salty replies, her silences on the comm followed by scoldings, the way she always _knew_... and he had not been able to h elp himself. There were posters of the Strike Team around the base, the promotional ones the UN decided to use for recruitment purposes; he had taken a picture of Ana’s to look at it when it ached to know she was the only one that would never come to visit.

Some people at the base had told him he was obsessed with her, but that was not true. When he enlisted in the Army, he found a purpose, a feeling of belonging. He liked doing other things, of course, but nothing made him feel as accomplished as being part of a team that could make the difference to many people.

And it was the same with women. Ah, he had liked many and he knew he would like many more, but all of them paled before Ana. Was it _love_? No. He loved a lot of people with passion and had no issues showing it or acting upon it, if they both felt inclined to. But it was different with Ana. She was special in ways he could not describe. Perhaps he also had a special kind of love only for her.

In any case, it did not matter. Not when she seemed to hate every word he said.

“Been a long time, Captain,” he forced himself to smile and bow before her.

“You look like a baywatch with your hair and the tan,” she raised an eyebrow, golden eyes piercing him. “Just missing the sunglasses.”

He rubbed his head with the huge armoured hand. Did she meant a Baywatch star, just like Hasselhoff? Because the man was a legend, and it would have been great compliment if she had not meant it as a tease. Ah, damn it.

“Let’s get inside before this heat completely melts your bird-brains,” Gabriel rolled his eyes, pushing him to make his point across. Reinhardt put an arm around his neck and used him as the last resort to get away from the awkward situation.

She made her choice, and he would not get in her way.

“Did you bring me any _bündnerfleisch_? Cheese? Hope it’s cheese.”

“Do you ever think about anything that’s not food, sex, or fighting?”

“Should I?”

  
  


After Reinhardt took his armour back to the hangar, he walked to the canteen where the Strike Team members were waiting. Gabriel and him chatted amicably over cold pale beers until the former let go a long sigh after discussing about the omnium just discovered in Australia.

“I need to get you back into the team, Goldylocks,” the Strike Commander put down his mug. “You’ve done good here, but we need to win this war.”

“I’m always up to hammer them where it hurts most,” Reinhardt leaned on the counter and looked around with a bit of sadness; not that he minded coming back to Switzerland but, after more than two years, he considered Gibraltar his home. He had made some good friends there, and had got used to the chain of command and her bouncy curls. “So… where are you going after this?” He changed the topic and rubbed his scarred eyebrow absentmindedly. “Anything exciting? Do you need any assistance?”

Gabriel’s shoulders fell as he let go a long sigh.

“We’re going to The Hague. They want us to explain what Overwatch is, how we only kill baddies, yadda, yadda. Wanted to see how the works here are coming along before we report.”

Reinhardt winced in sympathy and patted him on the back.

“Sure Commander Marquez will give you a great tour. She’s the best person at explaining things around--very effective in all fields,” he nodded, making Gabriel crack a smile.

“You sly dog,” he said, grabbing his beer again. “I need to be careful with that stupid grin of yours or one day I’ll ask you to fuck me too, geez.”

“She’s just my friend,” he protested, though not very heartedly, and the Commander cackled.

“Yeah, you have lots of _friends_ everywhere,” he raised his glass to him, his dark eyes going towards Ana, glinting. She elbowed Gabriel under the ribs with a swift movement, making him double over and spill the beer over himself.

“Oops,” she said, stirring her tea as if nothing had happened.

Reinhardt let go a big guwaff, but he sobered straight away upon noticing Ana’s burning glare and rushed to hid behind his beer. It was always so funny to see Gabriel get owned for his big mouth that he had not been able to help himself.

“Totally worth it,” Gabriel laughed and smacked him in the arm, defusing the situation yet again. “I’ll go change now before the Commander gets a weird impression of me. You two, _behave_.”

Ana snorted, not even sparing a look at Reinhardt, and the Strike Commander left them alone.

He was heading for the door when Commander Marquez entered the room. Gabriel bowed a bit and pointed at them as he rushed away, and she walked towards them rocking her fabulous black curls.

“Afternoon, Rein,” she smiled, and he grinned, saluting back. “Saw you brought us back several bastions. Good boy. Ah, and you must be the famous Captain Amari from Overwatch. He won’t shut up about you,” she rolled her eyes, then looked at her from head to toe. Uh. That was dangerous, he knew. Like a cannon ready to shoot.

“And you are Commander Marquez, I take it?” Ana spared a look at her, eyes barely more than slits. “Reinhardt was just talking about your many, ah--skills,” she raised an eyebrow and bit at her lower lip for a brief moment.

He wheezed at the implication, but the Commander paled in a heartbeat. She turned to look at him with such anger that he thought he would burst into flames.

“Marta, that’s not what--”

The petite Commander kicked him in the shin with her military-grade steel-reinforced boots. He let go a very unmanly whimper, taking his weight from the leg straight away, and she grabbed his t-shirt to pull him forward. The seams creaked at the strain, and he leaned on the bar to double over while his leg recovered.

“Shut it or I’ll aim higher. Actually, I totally should have aimed higher,” she growled, the feral little thing.

“Listen, please?”

“That’s how you treat the things you borrow?” Ana tsked, still much amused and acid, making the Commander turn towards her.

“Ah, _pobrecita,_ now I understand,” she fixed her curls, smiling like a predator. “You lost your chance. Why am I not surprised, you unfuckable bag of bitterness?”

“Please,” she chuckled. “Are you a Commander or a street mug?”

“Five minutes!” Gabriel’s voice echoed on the canteen, and Reinhardt had never been happier to see him. “I’ve been gone for five minutes!” At the door, he was hiding his face with a hand. “Commander, please spare my team and let’s do the briefing without casualties.”

She did not move, her fiery green eyes glaring at each of them in turns. Then, she huffed, and walked towards the Strike Commander.

Reinhardt leaned his arms on the bar and let his head hang. Whenever Marta got angry he ended doing guard duty at noon and he would roast in the armour for hours. During weeks. Not to say she would only bark and growl at him and totally not listen-- all because Ana decided to… He could not even start to fathom why she would screw with the Commander unprovoked. Right, probably Marta was about to jump onto her throat but, still.

He turned his head to her just to discover she had gone like the little ghost she was.

Sigh.

 

\--000--

 

The sun was still quite up in the sky when Ana got outside. Taunting the Commander had been a childish thing to do, but she had not been able to help herself. She was still pissed with Gabriel’s comment when the Commander came moving her arse like she owned the place and treating Reinhardt as if he was her pet.

The German could be many things, but a lap dog was not one of them. What he was, though, was a bastard that had been plain ignoring her to her face. That had pissed her off even more.

Months had passed. Years, for fuck’s sake, and he still would not look her in the eye.

She understood. It was awkward. It was with Jack too, at first, but he did not run away across half a continent. He did not stop talking to her, ignoring her as if they had never been friends. Actually, it was worse than that, because Reinhardt was extremely friendly with everyone but her. The team calls got so bad she decided to stay on the blind side of their webcam as the others spoke. Hidden, as if she was never there.

It was the only way he would keep on being his silly self.

Her fiddling fingers started braiding her hair over her shoulder. She was giving it too much thought again--she cared too much about it. Big mistake.

But she missed him.

And he was an idiot.

She would have visited along with the others, but it was clear she would not be welcome. Besides, he was happy at his new post. More than happy, she would say, until she fudged up with the Commander.

Ah, she should not have done that. It would have been fairer to take it all on Gabriel--he was the one that pushed her buttons, after all. Even on the bloody German himself.

Ana sat under the shadow of a large boulder. The facilities were in a sort of a rocky terrace surrounded by a wasteland. There were no plants, no trees, nothing but scorching sun, rocks, and bastion pieces laying around--too broken to be salvaged. It was hot indeed, but never as much as Egypt was, where words dried in her mouth before she could even say them.

Running away had been as silly as provoking the Commander, and sure Gabriel would laugh his arse off once he caught up with her. It was his kind of humour, after all--which was worrying. Maybe they were spending too much time together lately. She needed to have a laugh every now and then with an adult, and Jack was usually too caught up in the job to relax and joke.

People came and went through the same door she had used to get out, and her eyes went there every time she registered any movement. Nobody bothered with her even if they looked around, which was good since she did not want the company. The noise, however, was getting a bit annoying. She looked around-- there was a buzzing like a huge bee, but it was not exactly that, either. The air itself seemed to vibrate. It was making her uneasy.

Ana got up and climbed to her improvised shadow source, hissing softly when it went from slightly warm to frying under her hands. She crouched immediately to provide a smaller target and looked around. The sky above was clear blue and the sea on the horizon did not look menacing. There were no cities nearby, no cars or lorries close that could humm that way.

She turned around. There was a mountain and something weird in the distance. It did not look like a bastion but nor did it have a humanoid figure. It was enormous, and it had--wait. Was it moving? No. _The mountain_ was moving.  Just--it was not a mountain, but an _enormous_ boulder.

By the time she figured it, the alarm horns were bellowing. The defensive turrets deployed instantly with a mechanical sound and fired their red plasma --to no avail.

The boulder crashed into the highest part of the building and the very world trembled on impact. Ana held on by a hair to the rock on which she was perched and then jumped to the ground to stay away from the building.

Every window shattered as one, but the sound was barely audible over the groaning of the building collapsing on itself. In a heartbeat, she was inside a cloud of dust and she curled on the ground, covering her face as much as possible. She coughed, tears welling in her sniper-enhanced eyes. At her back, she could hear groans, cracks, and also yells and cries. The boulder sheltered her from the worst of the cloud, though, and she got up as soon she could see again.

There were people outside now, hands on their heads, looking at the disaster. The higher floors of the building--the tower with the big windows that looked like the control tower of an airport-- was no more. It had collapsed both on itself and atop the right wing of the building.

It took her three breaths to run there. The first one let the horror sink in. The second made her realize her friends were there, with an unholy amount of other people. The third gave her the courage to move before there was another attack.

People poured out from virtually any open door, window, or crack on the wall, most of them covered in white dust and bleeding. The alarm kept bellowing through the surviving speakers, and she pushed her way inside a building she did not know, assisting where she could, helping others get up, and commanding them to get out and away from there.

She knew the drill well. The cries, the blood, the panic--it all washed over her as if it did not exist.

“Make way,” she heard a familiar voice say, and then, the roar of an engine. She took another breath--one filled with relief-- and made her way towards the German. Clad on his armour, he was lifting debris while other people rescued the trapped ones, assisted by a small red-haired girl covered in dust.

“Careful with the building,” she said, noting the cracks on the walls around them. There was a staircase packed with debris that had fell from above, and they did not want to disturb it.

Reinhardt let the chunk in his hands fall to the ground and looked around, hope and dread altogether on his face. He pulled her in a hug the moment he spotted her, his forehead against hers.

“I’m so grateful,” he mumbled. There was a relieved smile on his face, even if he seemed closer to tears than anything else.

Anger melted in Ana’s chest, and she ran a hand through the golden mane at the back of his head just as she did to Fareeha when she was upset. It did not seem to have the desired effect though, because he closed his eyes for a second and put her down with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said, giving her his back, now. “I shouldn’t have--ah, I’ll keep on helping.”

She stared at his back, head cocked. He was not ignoring her because he did not care, that much was obvious, now.

Ana pushed him as she would have done years back--it would not even make him stagger, but it should be enough for him to feel it. Reinhardt looked at her askance and she smiled enough to make his eye widen in surprise and confusion. There had to be something else going on in that scatterbrain of his, but it was not the place or time to ponder.

“Where’s your helmet?”

“Ceiling is too low,” he grabbed another slab from the ground and pushed it away. There was a pocket of air, and someone was curling on the ground completely covered in dust. “There’s lots of good people missing. Would you help me?”

“I need to find Gabriel,” she kneeled to help the curling person up. “We don’t have much time. Another boulder may throw the whole building down.”

“He would be upstairs with the Commander, at her office. I’m trying to clear a path.”

“The boulder hit the tower. It collapsed. There may not be a path.”

He stopped for a moment and looked at her, his mouth a thin line, and she could read his thoughts as clearly as if he had voiced them.

“Gabriel would never die of something like this. Super-soldier, remember?” She wished she was as confident about it as she sounded, and she wished she could say the same of the rest of the people of the base--his friends. “Sure he pushed the Commander away from harm, too. Is there an emergency exit or a secondary staircase we could use?”

“Ah, there may be,” his face brightened slightly. Of course he had not thought about that-- he was not the type to leave a burning building in the first place, let alone using the emergency exit. “There’s a staircase outside, always wondered what was for.”

“I’ll go check. Put your helmet on, may need to call you on the comms. No buts,” Ana raised a finger when he was about to complain. “Kneel if you must.”

  
  


Ana rushed outside the building once she had borrowed a comm device and strapped it to her wrist. She had one, of course, and so did Gabriel, but they were in their aircraft with the rest of their combat gear.

The first thing she did was look around for more attackers, but the sky seemed clear and there was no buzzing that could alert her of an incoming projectile. The colossus--whatever it was-- still loomed in the distance, even though the setting sun was making it difficult to see.

The stairs were surprisingly easy to find, though they were not completely unscathed. She went up several steps, tiptoed around some debris, and jumped to a window’s ledge when an enormous pile of concrete and things impossible to identify blocked her way. She kicked the window frame to get it out of the way --the glass being long gone-- and got inside the building again.

Water was pouring through the cracks, pooling at her feet and dripping down the lower floor. Those lights that were not in pieces were still on, allowing her to look around. A pile of rubble blocked half the corridor were she had landed, so there was just one way forward.

Ana hurried to the next room, calling in case someone could hear her. The first room had not seen any damage, but the next one had partially collapsed. Someone was trapped, not moving; a quick check told her she was dead, just like the one lying under the pillar.

She started calling every fifth step and then stop, wait, and listen, but all she could hear was the building groaning and water dripping and running. At some point, she could swear she could even hear Reinhardt messing with the rubble downstairs.

Thick electric mains cables had dropped from their hooks in the faux ceiling of the corridor where she was and, along with the dramatic emergency lights, it felt like she was stuck in one of those old scary movies about unpleasant extraterrestrials. The room to her right was a complete wreck, but she stopped nevertheless. There was a sign on the wall-- the Commander’s office.

Ana walked in, guts in a knot. Her mind knew what she was going to find, but she refused to believe it. Their more-than-stupid Strike Commander was not going to leave them before they won the war. Not going to happen. Not on her watch.

The place was bigger than she expected; it had been a real office with a door and a briefing room with chairs for eight people and a large screen. The table was in shambles under a chunk of ceiling. There was dust everywhere, pieces of faux ceiling, power cords, network cables, papers sprawled on the ground-- but no one she could see. That was good and bad. She pushed the door to the office and found it closed. It would not budge, so she smashed a chair against it several times. The upper half of the door cracked at last and she peered inside, panting.

Her Commander was there, blocking the door like the dumbarse he was. He, and the wall that was on top of him that only let his legs show. She climbed up the broken door and jumped to the other side effortlessly, careful not to stand on anything unstable--or anyone.

“Gabriel,” she called, crouching by his side and taking his pulse on the knee. It was strong, maybe a tad fast, but nothing unexpected considering the circumstances. He did not answer, and Ana looked underneath the concrete to understand what she had to deal with. His arms were firmly wrapped against his head, and that was all she could make. Good boy. Fractured arms and hands were definitely easier to fix than a leaking brain.

Gibraltar’s Commander was to his right--or, at least, the hand she could see belonged to a woman. Her pulse was fluttering; she would not last much longer.

“Reinhardt, I need you up here,” she said to the comm. ”Found survivors, cannot move them alone.”

“Moment, busy right now,” he sounded strained, and she frowned. Sure, he was moving debris, but it should not be that difficult with the armour’s help. “Come fast, I cannot hold it forever!”

Suddenly, the building rumbled under her feet. Her heart skipped a beat when she thought it was all going down _again_ , but the trembling stopped as fast as it had started.

“For all that’s sacred, don’t wreck the place more than it already is,” she growled, holding herself in the stuck half-door.

“Ceiling partially collapsed, but got it in time,” he panted, a tingle of pride on his voice. “How do I reach you?”

“From the outside, up the emergency stairs,” she sighed, tucking her hair behind her ears. The thought of people getting outside the building without any protection against possible attacks made her itch. She should be hiding, perched somewhere, being their eyes and picking their enemies before they struck. What good was she rescuing people when there was nobody taking care of their backs? “Who’s taking command of the rescued and the people outside?”

“Captain Miller. Haven’t found the deputy Commander yet.”

She hoped the captain knew what they were doing--or that they had a good lieutenant with them.

“Need to hurry. What attacked us is out there and can do it again.”

Reinhardt did not answer, and she was left again with the noise of water running and escaping through cracks and the odd electrical spark. Ana turned towards the pile of rubble that pinned the Commander and huffed. She could not help but change the weight from a leg to another. Restless. Impatient. She hated being vulnerable.

“Captain, where are you?” The German called at last, though the audio was rather poor. “I’m atop the stairs.”

His armour was anything but silent, but that was not what gave him away. A series of hits on the outer wall made the building tremble slightly again, and she bit her mouth to contain a frustrated hiss. Ana climbed back to the meeting room before remembering she had sneaked in through a broken window--something Reinhardt would never be able to do.

He was covered in grey dust from head to toe now but for the visor on his helmet, which had been dutifully cleaned. The ceiling was not tall enough to fit his height, and so he walked slightly bent over, bursting through the door frames.

Ana used the few moments it took him to reach her position to look ahead on the corridor. There were other rooms--many others. There could be more people trapped.

“Did you find the Commanders?” He asked, towering over her all skewed, like a metallic Tower of Pisa.

She nodded and they rushed back to the Commander’s office, with Reinhardt practically carving his way in through the faux walls. It was only when he stopped making a million noises that she heard it. _Another boulder_.

“We need to get out, now!” She hit his arm with a closed fist to give more emphasis to her words. “We’re under attack again!”

“Not without our friends,” Reinhardt grabbed the piece of concrete on top of Gabriel and pushed it away. There was a ripping sound of clothes and flesh, and a metallic rod dislodged from the Commander’s shoulder. It made Ana sick despite her years on the field.

He started digging Gibraltar’s Commander out as well, but the pile on top of her was otherworldly. Gabriel must have moved away, his enhanced reflexes fast enough to keep him mostly out of harm, but she--

“She won’t make it anyway!” Ana wriggled herself in front of the Crusader, arms extended, and she could imagine his face clearly despite the helmet. “Rein--”

The boulder hit.

She covered her head with her arms on instinct, senses overwhelmed by the wobbling of the building and the mirad of sounds around her. Crunching. Cracking. Sliding. Something  exploded several times--and the air felt like it was contracting and the ground under her feet receding. It was absurd--but then, the end of the world surely was.

Reinhardt picked her and Gabriel up and ran through the office’s broken window as everything blew up, turning around in the last second and shielding them with his barrier.

She could not see the explosion, her face hidden by a large hand protecting her head, but she could well hear it-- a massive shotgun followed by a high-pitched sound that would not go away. The shockwave catapulted them along with humongous pieces of wall and shard-like projectiles.

Ana kept her eyes closed shut as they flew, her lungs struggling for breath. She could feel the explosion’s heat ball expanding in front of them, everything becoming uncomfortably hot during the seconds it took them to fly far away enough-- and then, they plummeted down without reducing speed.

Gabriel’s body practically fell over her, squeezing her further against the crone of the amour’s arm. She held him tight just before the Crusader crash-landed on his feet. All her vertebrae complained at the same time, the muscles on her back straining, her fingernails digging in his friend’s body. They rebounded forwards, tilted dangerously, and crashed again. This time it was less painful, yet she held to Gabriel and the Crusader for dear life, a snarl on her face as they slid through the ground, soil and rocks raining over their heads as they skidded across the ground.

It felt like forever, but finally they stopped. Reinhardt fell to his side straight away, taking both of them with him. When Ana opened her eyes, she realized that there was a lot of light coming from behind them --where the building used to be, probably-- and that she hated travelling on Reinhardt’s armour.

“This shit only happen to me when you are around,” she hit him with a fisted hand. Ears still ringing, she slid down, every single muscle burning and complaining. What her fingers touched was not soil, but sand; the sea was a black mass in front of them. “You’re a magnet for trouble.”

His large right hand left Gabriel on the ground, and she winced in sympathy as the Commander rolled from his side to his back. He needed evac, and he needed it as fast as possible.

“Can you call the Swiss base?” She asked Reinhardt by standing practically on top of his helmet. She waited for him to say something, but he never did. Or maybe he did and she could not hear him. He hit the helmet with his hand a couple of times and ended up removing it completely. He was sweating, hair sticking to his face and neck as if he had just stepped out of the shower.

“--cooking alive in here,” she read his lips, his eyes wrinkling between a smile and a wince. The armour had some dents here and there, but it was not battered for once. Ana could only suppose that the barrier had protected them from the worst of the explosion, even if it could not do anything about the flying debris.

“Can you hear me?” She asked, hoping she was not yelling, and he frowned in confusion. Fantastic. Ana laughed at the absurdity of the situation and held herself against his side. It hurt to shake, but she could not help herself. Well. At least they were alive.

He shifted, slowly getting to his elbows then up to a sitting position, and the next she knew there was a large hand cuddling her. He was looking at her from above, saying something she did not understand. It did not matter, since worry was clear on his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she patted the armour. “As good as I can be after an explosion and a flight with a crazy German in an armour, anyway. Gabriel’s what worries me, I wish you could hear me,” she sighed and got on her knees, feeling a pang on her right calf--one of the million scratches and cuts from the flying debris.

She cupped the Strike Commander’s uninjured cheek with a hand as she took his pulse. Fast, but strong. Blessed super-soldiers. She could check his arms, feel for the more-than-likely fractures, but she ran a hand through his curly hair instead. The ride must have been hell for him, and what he really needed now was to remain immobile and stabilized. She could not give him that, though. Not yet, at least. There did not seem to be bastions around yet, nor any Omnic airship. It was strange, maybe they just wanted to destroy the site? In any case, the best they could do was go back to the others, seek survivors, pile up and hope someone was already coming for them.

Ana turned to the Crusader to explain her plan and saw him looking at the burning ruins with a blank face-- not good for someone that was so expressive. She pushed him slightly and he turned. Their eyes met for a moment, and he reached out for his helmet and put it on straight away. It was ridiculous to make gestures at a full armour when she could not hear anything and could not see his face for feedback, but he ended up nodding and pointing ahead of them.

She got up and went to check that it was safe while he scooped Gabriel up. She felt extremely vulnerable without her rifle but, at least, she was lighter and could walk unnoticed. The night was quite dark; fire cast long shadows out of boulders and stones, and she missed her hearing greatly. Her ears ached, but the noise was worse because it distracted her-- and that could get them killed.

They were not as far as she had imagined, at least, and soon she found some survivors digging a hole on the ground--a kind of trench, she imagined. Her heart sank as she counted them; there were a handful, plus  two that were lying down with horrible burns.

 

\--000--

 

Ana was a silhouette ahead of them, just lit by the building’s flames. Asking her to scout ahead had been impulsive but, the moment Reinhardt looked at the burning ruins, all he saw were memories of his life there, his friends. Rosa. His unit. Marta and her curls, her strong personality, her hands on him and then poking out the rubble— and it was like someone had tied his guts to a stick and twisted it.

The Captain’s dear face had somewhat broken the spell but, with her superpowers, she would have read through him in an instant. Just thinking that she may ask what was on his mind made him hide under his helmet.

It was shameful, but he could not deal with that and Ana at the same time.

Reinhardt scooped the Strike Commander from the ground, and the pain as he bent distracted his mind. Landing had been hard on his joints, his bad knee particularly, and it was extremely unhappy at any kind of strain. He knew landing was going to be shit if he could not break the fall on impact, but his passengers --his principal concern-- were alive, so everything else was secondary.

Besides, he was proud of his amazing job at skidding up to the beach considering he never paid much attention to his landing lessons at the Crusaders.

He limped forwards, keeping Ana in his sights. She should be safe ahead of him; his helmet let him see quite well in the dark and there were no bastions in sight—Ah, if only they would come and fight, the cowards. They were tired of losing, apparently, and dishonourable enough to target the rocket fuel tanks. It made his blood boil, and he had to make an effort not to squish Gabriel. He had discussed the fuel time and again with those in command, but they always thought the turrets, the plasma shield, and the troops were enough to keep the base safe. Unfortunately for them, the Omnics were more clever than they gave them credit for.

Ana turned around with a sudden movement, and someone appeared behind her. Reinhardt could not see who or what it was so he charged in, ready to deploy the barrier and punch any Omnic to the moon. As he got closer, he saw her and a soldier gesticulate and walk towards some rocks. Ah. There was nothing to worry about, then. Damn. He really wanted to have a go at some of those Omnic bastards.

There were other people around, he noticed, cutting the engine to stop himself. Pain shot up his legs all the way up to his back and he grunted, struggling to keep balance.  

“Your knee again?” He heard a voice say. Dulled and low, but it was an improvement over just hearing ringing bells. Reinhardt turned around to face Sara, from his unit. “So glad to see you, big guy.”

Luca, the chubby girl from the kitchen with the precious smile, ran towards him and hugged one of his arms while crying her eyes out. The scrawny new engineer, Phil, covered in dust and soot, eyes terrified, was crouching on the ground.

“Where’s everyone?” Reinhardt asked, looking around, but the only heat clusters his helmet could detect were around him already.

“They were too close,” Sara said, facing the flames as if she could put them out with a glare. “It’s just us, Julian and Rich there,” she pointed ahead where the two men were digging a trench of some sorts. “And two more too fucked up to be recognized, there.”

Reinhardt had to put all his will into not making fists with his hands and squeeze Gabriel. A handful. That was all that was left. He had helped out dozens, there were at least fifty outside when he went to help Ana. Friends, colleagues, team, _home._

Again.

He could not breathe out of pure rage and grief. There was no glory in those deaths-- in any death.

Something hit him from behind and he turned around straight away, activating the barrier. Ana jumped backward, hands raised in a peace gesture, and he put the shield down with a long breath. It was lucky he was carrying the Commander, because his first instinct had been turning around and punch instead of defend. Shit.

She said something--something too low for him to hear and too fast to read on her lips, but he did not care. All he wanted was to drop Gabriel somewhere safe and go punch something. Destroy something, even if he had to make do with the rocks around.

Ana followed him as he limped towards the two people lying on the ground. They were badly burned, too much for him to tell who they were--even if he wanted to try, which he did not.

He wanted to take the helmet off and run a hand across his face, but it was not a good idea. The armour filtered the air somewhat, and he did not want to even think about what smells should be in the area.

She helped him get Gabriel on the ground and knocked at the chest plate. She was frowning in concern, but said nothing--just showed him the datapad she was holding.

“You listening now? Good,” she said when he nodded. “Torb just told me something you would want to hear.”

The engineer seemed absorbed in typing something at high speed, not really looking at the screen anymore until he heard his name.

“Hey, big oaf,” he looked up. “Taking care of Ana and Reyes?” The datapad sounded far away, muffled, but he caught his friend’s worried tone anyway.

“Trying to,” Reinhardt said, though it felt like a lie. “The Captain said you’ve got something? Better be something I can fight and slam down.”

“She described what happened--I helped design an Omnic that could do that. Huge. Skyscraper kind of huge.”

“Sounds like fun,” he took a long breath through the nose. “Any idea where it can be?”

“Likely to be around a hundred miles from your location, but Ana said you are waiting evac.”

“What I meant was, is there an easy way to track it? Was it built at a known omnium?”

“Leave that to me, I may also have an ace on my sleeve to fuck them up for a while,” Torbjörn raised an eyebrow. “You get them--”

Something hit him again and he could have sworn, but this time it was a round of projectiles. Reinhardt pushed the datapad to Ana and scrambled up, looking around. A smile curved his lips; ugly, broken, and blood-thirsty.

“So, they’ve come after all,” he said, if to noone in particular. “Let’s fight, then!”

The guys digging the trench did not seem to have any weapons on them, and came running to their position, pushing the cook and the engineer with them. There was no safe place. Not really--just some rocks they could use to hide. The same he and his team had used in the morning to get cover for a while.

Reinhardt limped there, bullets scattering around him, and pushed the rocks down with the help of the engine, making them fall to the ground horizontally. They were not a great place to attack now, but the survivors could now lay low behind them; that would be better than nothing.

Ana scurried towards the rocks with the others, but crouched at his feet and used him as an improvised barrier.

“How many are there?”

“Ten. Fifteen maybe,” he looked again. Some were too close together and could not distinguish their signatures.

“I can’t hear you, moron,” she hit his leg with a small fist. “How many?”

“Just a little patrol to wipe survivors, I guess,” he continued, gesturing the number to her. “Sara!”

The soldier, who had crouched nearby and was probably waiting to have the enemy on her sights, ran towards them.

“They’re still far, but their bullets are lightweight, travel long--they can kill us easily without trying.”

Human technology was good enough to spot Omnics at quite the distance and, even if they could hide their heat signature, they were not exactly silent either. So what they did was fire some volleys from afar every now and then in the hope of pick off unsuspecting soldiers, engineers or even civilians.

“Don’t worry. Stay hidden, I don’t need a rocket hammer to screw them up,” he smacked his fist into his other hand, wishing he could actually crackle his real knuckles.

Ana pulled at Sara’s arm, then pointed at her rifle.

“Do we have any more weapons?”

“Just my gun,” she picked it up from the holdster at her back and showed it to Ana. “Wait a moment. Are you Captain Amari? From Overwatch? Oh my gosh, he wouldn’t shut up about you,” Sara gestured the words the best she could, making Ana snort. Then, she presented her the rifle. “You’ll give it better use than I could ever do.”

Several bullets rebounded on the armour, and Reinhardt turned around. They should fight far from their injured, give them a chance. It would reach a point where the bastions would use heavier rounds and a rock would not be enough protection for a handful of people.

“We should go. Take cover, keep the others safe,” Ana patted Sara on the arm, and she saluted formally. Figures. He never knew she had fans on his base--apart from himself, that is.

Reinhardt and Ana moved forwards, but it did not take him many steps to stop; the knee was killing him with each step. When it looked like the Captain was about to say something, he grabbed her and charged towards the last pile of rocks standing; the best spot he could see for her to hide.

“Don’t charge with me again, you--” she gritted her teeth and hit the armour with the butt of the rifle while bullets flew around them.

Reinhardt landed behind the rocks with a grunt, and had to lean on them to keep himself straight.

“You ok?”

“I’ve got this.”

Ana looked unimpressed even considering she could not hear him. After a moment, she pursed her lips, looked towards the horizon, and let go a long breath.

“Take the helmet off.”

He hesitated but, in the end, it was the only way they could maintain a conversation. The hot humid weather glued cinders and dust still floating in the air to his skin, but the smell of burning fuel and plastic was worse.  Revolting. Vile.

“Shield me and I’ll take care of the bastions,” she said, and it took his brain a moment to switch contexts from his overloaded senses to her words.

“No,” he snapped, hands tightening over the armour’s controls. “I’m gonna fight those bastards myself, on my honour. If there’s ever been a time for justice, that’s now.”

“Don’t be an idiot, you are injured and there’s no need to--”

“ _They need to pay_ ,” he emphasized every word, but there was no confusion on her face, just disapproval. She did not understand. He would not back off from a fight, let alone if he had a score to settle-- and he swore on his Crusader vows he would avenge his fallen friends. “And they will, whether you have my back or not.”

Putting the helmet on again, he took the steps to get out behind the rock and then charged the bastions.

The Omnics’ heads were small targets, but one crunched satisfactory under his large armoured fingers. His momentum pulled the tin can off its feet and he threw it up against three others with a swift turn. That probably would not stop them, but it would cause confusion and stop the rain of bullets; his improved armour could deal with the hits better--yet he was not invulnerable.

Reinhardt skidded with his left leg, turning and slowing down before ungearing the engine. The landing was mostly a tumble down, but he deployed the barrier as he tried to regain his footing. Ah, he was really missing his hammer now, but he just needed to get himself in the right position to bowl them like pins. The barrier cracked for the second time that day as the bastions switched to heavier rounds, but one of the tin cans fell to the ground not to move again.

Ana.

Sara’s rifle was not made for a sniper, yet  the Captain was able to kill a bastion with a handful of frozen peas, if circumstances required it.

He charged again, the heavier rounds lodging in the armour’s plate, and braced for impact. Two, three, four bastions flew away--and he picked one transforming half-way through by the neck and smashed it against the ground, dragging it several feet until the head tumbled away from its body. A pulse of bullets hit his side and he groaned, bringing the engine to a halt so he could cover himself. He fell to his knees with a grimace but, at least, he had given the barrier enough time to recover.

“Come here, you bloody things!” He taunted them, hoping that would make them target him instead of the rock where Ana was hiding. “Come here and fight me toe to toe!”

The head of one of them exploded in sparks just as he was pushing himself up. He was up on one knee when a hail of gunfire came from his right side again, lodging on his helmet and shoulder pad, grazing his neck. He covered his face with his free arm and geared the engine.

Bad idea. Only idea.

He dashed forwards kneeling as he was and used the momentum to put all his weight on his left leg and jump, falling on top of the bastion flanking him. His hands held together made an improvised hammer that crunched the bastion’s head down to its shoulders, and he fell back to the ground with the crumbling robot.

His bad knee gave away with spectacular fireworks as he landed, the pain only surpassed by him falling right on it. He squeezed his eyes and spewed every curse he knew in German and then some more in English. The world stopped existing for an instant, turned into a screaming white haze--bones grinding one against another, muscles cramping, things moving where they should not-- but slowly, his brain made sense of his reality and deployed the barrier again.

The shooting had stopped, he noticed. Ana was out of her hiding place, the rifle in her hands, still looking around for enemies. There were none he could see, yet he was not in a position to see much. A flick of his hand put the barrier down, and he looked at the pieces of the bastion he just destroyed. Instead of feeling better, he was just disappointed.

The Captain stopped by his side and looked down at him, the rifle on her shoulder now. There was no expression on her face, no sign that would tell what she was thinking--but all of her exuded tight anger and disapproval.

“We should go back,” she said at last.

That was easier said than done, because moving an inch was agony. Yet, he had chosen this path, and he would walk it. Or, at least, limp it.

Each of the armour’s joints that locked them in place in case they were damaged and, even if that would not make it less painful, at least the leg would not buckle. He bent forward as much as he could and started feeling around the sides for a bolt, but the large armoured fingers were not exactly nimble.

Ana crouched by his side with a wince and looked at what he was doing. In a moment, she reached out for something he could not see and his leg straightened without warning.

He could have _killed_ someone right there.

  
  
  


The Swiss base’s aircraft personnel outnumbered them three to one. They secured the perimeter, checked for survivors, and helped them inside. There was not enough cargo space to recover the burned remains scattered around the building and, for the sake of their injured, they decided to let them rest there--for now.

Reinhardt had just collapsed in the aircraft’s interior ground by the door the moment he made it there, and had not moved since. Someone had secured him against the fuselage with large belts that usually held cargo, but he did not mind. He had been able to come back to the other survivors charging, but had had to limp his way inside--and it had been exhausting.

Yet, it could have been worse. Gabriel was resting in a drug-induced sleep, just like the other two badly-injured people they carried. His arms were cast in tightening bandages--well, not just his arms. Practically half of him was, to keep the broken shoulder blade from moving. The least worrying injuries were the two gashes on his cheek, closed by plastic stitches.

Sara had sat down by his side for a while, holding on to him to brave the turbulences. Neither of them had much to say as the aircraft flew away from the Iberian peninsula, but the company was welcome as their new reality started to sink in. Not that Reinhardt had not accepted that his base and his colleagues were gone, but being at the site felt different. As if it was not over yet. Now, his mind navigated a haze of faces he would not see again. He hated it, but did not have energy left to fight both the pain and his memories at the same time.

When the doctors finished patching up Ana, she ran a hand at her hair, eyes moving to all the injured on the ship. While her face was relaxed now her injuries were soothed, there still was a crease on her brow. She had not spoken to him since they fought the bastions, and he wondered if she ever would. What happened while he had been pushing the debris away must had been his imagination, and she was just interacting with him due to the circumstances. Hah. He just had to see the contempt with which she looked at him.

He bit his tongue and forced himself to enumerate the pieces of his armour. Thinking about Ana was like changing one demon for another.

 

 

Sometime later, two doctors appeared in his field of view looking tired but determined.

“Ready to cooperate, now?” One of them cocked his head. “We’re done with the rest.”

He made a face. Even Sara was resting now on the other side of the aircraft, so he was indeed the last one. He was not looking forward to moving his leg even an inch, but it would be good to get out the cooking machine for a while, stretch. Take a shower.

He took off one of the belts that anchored him to the aircraft and the doctors pushed him to the side so he did not have his back against the wall. Then, he started unfastening the armour. He missed Rosa’s tiny fast fingers, her curls tickling his nose when she busied herself on the main power supply and he was not wearing his helmet. She never had put up with his bullshit, and he loved her for that.

A shaky sigh left him. The chest plate opened at the umpteenth try and he got his arms out at last. The doctors were getting a bit impatient with the time it was taking him to get ready, and he hurried to open up the rest up to his hips. To wriggle himself out, he put his hands on the ground, anchored himself, and pulled.

It took all his self-control to choke the pain on his throat as he fell back on his elbows, the world swirling in a white haze; he would not take the bad leg’s boot from the anchors without yanking at the bones and ligaments in every direction possible--which he had just done, if just not enough to free himself. _Holy fucking shit_ , did it hurt.

A couple of hands held him as he breathed hard, trying to ride the pain and control his breathing again; it was one of the doctors.

“We could try with a nerve-blocker shot, but you’ll pee yourself if use it in your lower back,” he said, finished the sentence whispering in his ear. Reinhardt did not know if he was more disgusted or horrified.

“I’ll manage, my friend,” he swallowed, running a hand over his face. Now that he knew what to expect, he took a couple of breaths, held himself on the hips of the armour-- and someone pulled at his hair.

“Wait. Give me that,” Ana said from behind, releasing him. “My hand is small. I think it’ll will fit to administer it locally.”

She popped into his range of vision with a small syringe on her hand and exchanged a look with him. Her face was serious; not a ghost of a smile or a twinkle in the eye.

She made her way under his right arm, lying half on the ground and half on his armour. Her hand reached his hip and then his inner thigh, leaving a trail of fire on its wake despite his trousers. She stretched and he held her as he could, trying to support her efforts and distract himself. Her body was warm against his side, her elbow practically at his crotch as her arm wiggled forward. It would have been a dream scenario if it _did not fucking hurt so much_ every time she jarred his leg.

“Stay still, damn it!”

He was trying. He really was.

“Got it.”

The wave of relief almost knocked him down completely.

“Thank you,” he gasped, squeezing her a bit against his side. As the pain dulled to almost nothing, different aches appeared--The other leg from the knee down to the ankle. His hips, his lower back. Landing had been rough on him, indeed.

Ana pulled her arm out and sat on the ground by his side, waiting in silence as he wriggled out of the armour.

The youngest doctor cut Reinhardt’s trousers from the end of the boot up to the middle of his thigh and the oldest one poked here and there, a frown on his face. It did not hurt, but it was both gross and fascinating to see things moving and whatnots despite the swelling and the bruising.

“Did you fall from far?” The doctor doing the poking asked, reaching for the boot and opening it up a bit. His face was a compendium of frowns and lines as he wrapped his knee in a bag of cold gel.

“Probably.”

Reinhardt could feel the Captain’s reproaching eyes as they cut the boot shank and packed the shin and the ankle as well. Then, they applied a tightening bandage from the thigh down to his foot to restrain his movement.

“I hope there’s no need to say this, but don’t move,” the eldest of the doctors snorted, tying him as well to the fuselage, just beside the armour. “You’ll need quite the surgery to walk again.”

His left leg did not seem to be in a terrible condition, at least not compared with the mess which was the other leg, yet the doctors wrapped it up in a similar fashion. By the time they were done, Ana was right-on glowering.

“If you have anything to say, Captain, say it,” he let go his breath. Now the worst of the pain was gone he could not believe how tired he was. He may be able to snooze for the rest of the journey if he could ensure nobody was going to set him on fire.

“I should have shoot you instead of those bastions,” she said curtly, arms crossed. “I understand you wanted retribution, but to fight like this?”

He would have fought like that much more had the leg not given way, but something told him she did not want to hear that. But, wait a moment. Did she just say--?

“You understand?” He asked slowly, with a hint of sarcasm on his voice.

“Been there too, you know,” the Captain looked down, pursed her lips. Her night-dark hair was matted with dust, and she was making a braid out of it. “But you left before we could discuss it.”

“Because you clearly disapproved, and we didn’t have time--”

“What are you, ten?” She snapped. There it was, even more disapproval, but suddenly her shoulders sank and her head bent. “Gabriel is only alive because of the super-soldier serum, and you--you went and charged to get yourself killed. Did you want me to cheer at you?”

A thick silence descended over them for a moment, and Reinhardt rubbed his left thigh absentmindedly. She was being overly dramatic about it. True, he was not at his best. True, he would have not escaped unscathed but, as long as the engine was operative, he would have eventually smashed them all.

But that was not the important point. The important point was that she cared. Maybe not in a straightforward way, but… Ok, maybe _cared_ was too big a word. Maybe she was not as indifferent as he thought? Well, she was a decent human being; she would not be indifferent to people dying in front of her.

But the way she had said it…

No, it could not be. He was overthinking it _again_.

“I don’t seem to die easily,” he cracked a sad half-smile. “Sorry if that’s a disappointment.”

Ana’s elbow lodged under his ribs in a split a second, making him grunt and double over slightly. Then, she got up like the little feral cat she was, and was gone before he could say anything else.

Reinhardt closed his eyes and leant his head on the fuselage. Going back into the Strike Team was going to be hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter ever-- Hope you had fun! As promised, decided not to shy away from defining them as persons, and this is the first step in that direction. This was a difficult chapter to write; it's long, had to take lots of decisions, there's quite some pew pews, and sometimes Ana and Rein complicate my life lots. I hope they are still in character! I have to take some liberties with Rein every now and then, but I take inspiration from his 2017/2018 lore.
> 
> I also try to make informed decisions about injuries and whatnots, but I'm no expert on soldiers, supersoldiers, people working in dangerous situations, adrenaline, endorphins, and so forth... take it with a pinch of salt, pls.
> 
>  
> 
> Ah. I've finished the "first part" of the story. Meaning, I've 3 chapters more written so far. I'm writing the next one, but they take me more than one month to finish... ALSO I need Ideas for their adventures in their middle years, aka, after Brigitte was born. So any headcanons, ideas-- anything, really, send it my way.
> 
> Thanks! *hugs all* Get ready for more feelings in the next chapters ; )


	6. May 2049 (8 hours later)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana learns a thing or two about Reinhardt.

After the landing, Ana went directly to her rooms. She took a sleeping pill, something reserved for shit days after which she really needed to get comatose and rest, and woke up six hours later. She was stiff and achy all over, so she dressed up and walked towards Med bay for a check-up. The landing had left her with several strained muscles, mostly in her back, but they had given her a load of painkillers and muscle relaxants, and a localized shot of nanites. In two or three days she should be good as new.

Her ears were still ringing softly despite the first-aid she received on the aircraft, and the doctor examined her yet again. The tears in the eardrums had been sealed, but they still presented micro ruptures. The ringing may or may not disappear once she healed, but there was nothing they could do until then.

As long as it did not impair her ability to concentrate and shoot, she was not particularly worried-- moreover, she had much more important things in mind, she thought, pushing the door of the nursery.

“Laddies and lassies, we have a visitor! Say hi to Captain Ana, come on!” Nana smiled, waving. 

The noise was a small blessing that muffled the cries of several infants and kids waving and cheering her. She did not know what stories Nana had told the kids, but they were always extremely happy to see her and she had no idea-- oh. Several of the kids had a book on their lap with photos and pictures of Overwatch’s heroes.

Fareeha jumped to her arms and Ana squeezed her, kissing her dark hair. She was so pretty, such a darling--it melted her in a way she could not describe. Every horror she endured, everything she suffered, it was all worth it because it was for Fareeha.

“Aha! I knew you'd come by, eventually,” Torbjörn’s gruff voice sounded behind her. “We were waiting for you. I am going to bring your little lady for a very,  _ very _ , quick visit to Reinhardt because I promised, right, peach?”

“Yes!”  She squeaked. 

Oh. Oh,  _ damn _ .

“Sure this is a good idea?” Ana frowned, not looking forward to it at all, really. She just wanted to have some time with Fareeha-- but her daughter would insist. She knew it. And she was not in the mood to argue with her when all she wanted was to spend some time together. “He may not be well yet for little visitors.”

“That’s something we need to talk about,” the engineer sat down on the ground. “Council, now.”

Ana bit her tongue at his friend’s serious face, and sat down besides Fareeha, making a little circle of three people. This council thing was quite new to her, but it was something Nana had been training the kids to do when they had to discuss something or break news to them-- and it seemed to be working well, from what she said. 

“Who wants to go visit Reinhardt?”

A little hand shot up. Torbjörn raised his hand as well and smiled smugly at Ana. She pursed her lips; as expected, she had lost the first round already.

“That’s decided then. Rules: number one, we need to be very quiet, because he is at Med bay.”

“He ill?” Fareeha whispered, brown eyes huge. 

“He got hurt yesterd--” He was interrupted by a little gasp, and fixed his moustaches. “It was a dragon, right Ana? A terrible one. Huge!”

“A… dragon,” she scratched the fabric of her trousers, unsure if she should encourage Fareeha’s imagination that way. And yet, they could not tell her the Omnics had blown up a building full of people, could they? “Yes, it was a horrible creature.”

“You saw it, mom?” Fareeha gaped at her in admiration, and she caressed her dark hair. “Reinhardt saved you?”

Ana looked at the ground for a moment, feeling a pang of anger returning to her. She would have punched him unconscious when she saw his injuries. The idiot. Oh, she understood the need to vent his anger and grief on something, but rushing to combat with his injuries  _ just to make them worse _ was the peak of idiocy.

It reminded her when Jack threw himself over a grenade that fell in the middle of the group, the stupid son of a bitch. Or that time Gabriel jumped off a cliff with with a bastion because he had run out of bullets. Oh, and there was Torb, getting himself run over by a truck so he could get into it more easily and hack it down.

Argh.

“Ana?”

She rubbed her eyes with a hand for a moment.

“Sorry, got sidetracked. Go on.”

“Rule number two: he may not be feeling great, so we will say hi and then leave without complaining if he is unwell.”

Her daughter’s little face scrunched in disappointment, but she nodded.

“Oh! The book!” Fareeha almost jumped up. “I promised him!”

“Fine, bring it. But show it to him only if he’s ok with it.”

Fareeha ran to recover her book, making Torbjörn crack a smile. Ana was amazed at how good the gruff engineer was with kids, but then, he had at least a couple, did he not? She did not know a whole lot about his life other than his family was in Sweden. When he joined Overwatch, and after making sure they all understood he did it to shut down the omniums building weapons based on his blueprints, Torb secluded himself into the engineering bay and barely got out. She still remembered their first mission as a team, where he would just not talk to anybody.

And they said Ana was the antisocial, gruff one-- but then, everyone had their scars. He seemed happier talking to Ana than humouring the guys, though, so it was quite the surprise when he and Reinhardt became such good friends. But it was good; Reinhardt needed people around and Torbjörn could use someone that distracted him from himself.

“Sooo, how’re things?” He sighed, tapping his fingers on his knee. “And I don’t mean what happened yesterday-- well, I do. But I’m not concerned about the building business or the Omnics.”

“You’re very persistent.”

“You’re my friend. He’s my friend,” he shrugged. “I don’t like to see you moping.”

“I don’t mope,” she frowned. “Let alone because of an idio--”

“Ah, cut it. You miss him,” the engineer made a gesture with his hand. “And he misses you. Do I need to write it up in neon letters? Cause I totally can.”

He what? Yeah, maybe when he was not trolling her about his death. 

Fareeha came back to them, saving her from her indiscreet friend but dropping her in a different patch of deep water.

“Look at this, mama!” She said, opening the book and showing Ana a picture of Reinhardt in his old gryphon-like armour. “He’s a knight! Did you know that?”

Torbjörn looked at Ana, an eyebrow raised and a little smile on his lips, and then got up.

“Ah, let’s get going already.”

  
  
  
  


The double doors of the Med bay common area opened up when they got close enough. The room had faux walls to separate beds, much in the same way a critical unit in real a hospital would. Gabriel would be in on of these, close to the nurses and the doctors all the time--at least until he woke up of his own accord. To their right there was a line of doors; individual rooms for those injured that were not well enough to go to their own lodgings. 

There was only one room with a bed big enough to hold a mountain, and they were not disappointed; it had the German’s name on it. Torbjörn opened up, heading their little company. He turned around and put a finger on his lips -- Reinhardt was very quiet on the bed, an arm over his face. Sleeping, probably.

The engineer stopped on his tracks when he was halfway through, cocked his head, and then walked forwards again. Ana raised her eyebrows when he grabbed a glass and clanked it against the bed frame; bed manners at their finest.

“Oi, docs treating you bad?”

“Torb, my friend,” a smile touched the German’s cracked voice. He rubbed his face for a moment and offered him a hand, that he squeezed. “No, it’s just--ah…”

“You need beer. I get it,” he chuckled and moved aside. “Got you something better for now, if you can handle it.”

Reinhardt rose on his elbows a bit and a grin split his face in an instant, making the girl squeal. Oh yes, that was the cue she had been waiting for to stop being all formal and run towards him, arms up. He grabbed Fareeha effortlessly and dropped her in his lap, book and all. 

He looked quite terrible by his standards, with the golden hair all messy and his eyes puffy and sunken under dark rings, but Fareeha did not seem to mind it at all. 

Ana took a couple of steps forward and he glanced at her like a huge sad teddy bear before looking down to the girl again.

“Ah, what you have in there?” He coughed a bit, trying to clear his throat. “A book?”

“ _ The _ book!”

“Show me!”

While Fareeha set the book on his lap and found whatever they wanted him to see, Torbjörn grabbed the medical notes at the foot of the bed. 

“Shattered tibia, displaced tibial plateau fracture, patellar tendon tear, meniscus tear, and I won’t keep on reading the other twenty things. It should just say you’re screwed for a while.”

He raised the sheet over his legs to reveal a white plastic brace from half his right thigh to down the calf. It was not all closed up, probably because of the swelling and bruising that reached down to the ankle. Fareeha gasped and hid her mouth behind her hands upon seeing the hardware popping up his leg. Bolts, plaques, and an stapled incision ran all the length of the knee, and more bolts propped from the shin. Ana snatched the sheet from the engineer’s hand and put it back before smacking him in the head.

“Really.”

“Well, the dragon had really nasty teeth, what can I say.”

Ana took the medical notes from the engineer’s hand and looked for the outcome of the surgery. The hairline fractures on the left leg should make a good recovery in days with the nanos, but the complete replacement of the right knee and the reconstruction of the right tibia and fibula were marked as guarded prognosis. With the amount of damage described on the notes, it was a miracle that none of the bone shards had pierced out his leg during the fight. 

Well. At least he had not wrecked his back. Nanites would sure help the recovery time, thought they could not inject him any more nerve blockers if they wanted them to do their job.

“If only--” She stopped talking, frozen at the tears rolling down Reinhardt’s cheeks despite his smile.

Fareeha looked up when they dropped on her head, and he chuckled and sobbed at the same time, causing an earthquake on his lap.

“Fare--”

“It’s ok,” Torb grabbed Ana’s arm, restraining her at his side. “It’s the painkillers.”

Her brain short-circuited at the information and, for a moment, she could only stare at Fareeha rubbing Reinhardt’s cheeks with a sleeve. 

“What did you just say?” Ana managed to say while her daughter tried to wipe away Reinhardt’s scar without much luck.

“Painkillers. Most turn him into a sappy pupper. Yes,” he continued when she stared at him, “he’s high in a bad way. ”

“I’m afraid to ask how  _ you  _ gained this information.”

“Ah, we had some beers the day we met, when he cracked his skull.”

She was about to wonder out loud if the doctors had not read his medical records, but then she remembered they were at war; they did not have a stable supply of drugs to begin with, and it was a miracle they have any nanites available. 

“Mama?” Fareeha reached out for her to come around. She looked unsure about what to do and Ana could not blame her; she felt the same. “Is this a drawing like yours?”

The smile he tried to maintain quivered as he covered half his face with a large hand, and Ana bit her lip, expecting a meltdown-- but he actually laughed. It was a racked sound that shook his shoulders much like weeping would. 

“A drawing,” he said in the end, turning the hand over his eye into a claw. “I’d like that.”

Ana grabbed his hand and pulled it away --the last he needed was to hurt himself-- and he did not put any resistance. His fingers closed on hers and he looked up, confused. 

“Captain?” 

“Now you noticed?” 

His expression lightened up just to wither the next moment. He lowered his head and took his hand away, leaving it on his lap.

There he was again, being all weird again just like at the building-- but now with puppy eyes.

“Don’t you go ignoring me again,” she sounded more curt than she wanted, but she could not help herself. From all her teammates, Reinhardt was the only one that could truly exasperate her by tip-toeing like this. 

“You’re the one that’s not here,” he mumbled, shoulders dropping with a shaky breath. “Pictures?” He tapped the book on Fareeha’s lap.

“Fine. But don’t get them wet!” She admonished him with a little finger. He ate it up, making her giggle. “Silly! I need it for the pages! This is a  _ real book _ !”

Ana was still gaping at his words. He thought he was imagining her-- so he thought she would never come to visit him? That was absurd. An exaggeration. She would have come of her own free will sooner or later. Probably more later than sooner, but still. 

It almost felt as if she had done something to him, when  _ he _ was the one ignoring her all the time. 

Fareeha turned several pages, shortly explaining the characters and people mentioned, and the idiot barely contained a sob when the book landed in one of their group pictures were he was hugging her and Torb at the same time. Damn it. It was unfair! Ana wanted to be angry at him but, instead, she ran her a hand through his hair. He leaned on her touch, eyes welling up, and she did not have the heart to push him away.

This would not end here, though. They would have a conversation when he was not high as a kite--for the Strike Team’s sake and, Torb-be-blasted, for both their sakes as well.

Fareeha rolled her eyes when his tears ended in the next picture, and dried the paper with her skirt.

“Mama, he’s a disaster.”

“He is,” Ana kissed her head. “But you never told me who’s this guy here in the picture.”

“Ah, Captain Banter! And this is the Strike Commander with his shotguns! Pew, pew!”

It was in that moment of apparent relaxation that Ana noticed Torbjörn coming back into the room--and she could  have killed him on the spot for leaving her in such a mess.

“Where were you?” Although she tried not to growl, she did not put much effort into hiding her anger. 

“I went to update the doctors about his  _ issues  _ and to grab something for him,” he made a gesture with his hand. “But you’re doing great.”

“I hate you.”

He smiled smugly under his growing beard, and walked towards the headboard. Then, he took the pitcher of water and filled a glass that he offered to the Crusader.

“Take these,” he pressed two little pills into his hand. “We’ll get to the beer when you’re a bit more yourself.”

Reinhardt looked at him with a shadow of distrust but did as he was told, not moving an inch from Ana’s hand. 

Three pictures later, he rubbed his eyes with a hand.

“This sucks  _ so hard _ ,” he sniffled and shook his head. Then, he looked at Torb. “You putting me to sleep?”

“It’s for the best. You’ll feel better later.”

“Nooo, please,” his words started to sound slurred, and when he tried to straighten himself in the bed he failed miserably and ended sinking into the pillow, away from Ana. He let his head hang in defeat and hid himself behind his hands. “You’ll leave, and I’ll be alone.  _ Again _ . Please? Everyone always...”

He started sobbing for real this time, his grief was so raw and tangible than Ana picked Fareeha up. It was a reflex; she was not in danger, and she was not upset at all, just maybe worried... But Ana was. She had seen grown men weep before, pulling at their hair and their beards in their misery. But seeing Reinhardt like this made her chest ache because he was like a big child. That sorrow, that pain-- it was exactly what she wanted to protect Fareeha from. The reason she would fight till her last breath.

“Ah, don’t write us off already,” Torb snorted, patting his shoulder with a hand. “We won’t kick the bucket anytime soon, right, Ana?”

Well, she was a bit sceptical about that, being at war at all--and so seemed the German, with good reason. 

“Come on, now,” the engineer produced a packet of tissues from his pockets and threw it into his lap. “What is the little princess going to think of you?”

But, if he stopped, it was only because of the drugs made him fall asleep.

  
  
  
  


_ (The next day at some point) _

 

Jack’s arrival back at the base was thankfully uneventful, Ana learned over hot chocolate. He had not read the report she had painfully written about Gibraltar, but he knew the important parts and was quite vexed about it. Not only their human loss had been terrible, it was a setback for them as an organization. The UN board was not pleased at all, but it would have been worse if the Omnics had tested the new weapon against a city--which was still a possibility. 

“I’m glad you were there to take care of the team,” he said, squeezing her shoulder slightly.  “You’re a bit like our guardian ang--”

“Don’t,” Ana snorted. She was nothing of the sort, not would ever be, thank you. He frowned at her harshness, and she took a breath. “I just happen to try to do my job the best I can, that’s all.”

Fareeha came in with a drawing she just had made of him in his military suit, copied from the infamous book. He was delighted, though Ana was starting to feel like she was getting too hyped about Overwatch. Of course she was still a little kid, but Ana did not want the life of a soldier for her. There was so much more she could be, infinite possibilities in a world at peace.

If they ever got to be at peace again.

“What would we do about the new Omnic?” She asked, frowning. “Any plans to decommission it?”

“Talked to Torb before coming around. He knows a way to track it,” Jack tapped his fingers on the table. “Seems he helped designing something similar, and this or that is still the same. He’ll have the details in human-readable input later.”

“That’s good news. Anything about the god program’s tracking, tho? That’s our main priority with the omniums.”

“If we can track and stop that Omnic we may be able to see where it came from, strike at the factory. There has to be a clue, something we could use,” he made a face when she did not look convinced. “We created them, they’re not perfect.” 

That was true, but they seemed to be quite skilled at hiding their tracks. They needed a hacker, and they needed one by yesterday, but the slippery bastards did not seem very interested in working for an organization like theirs despite Gabriel’s efforts at securing them even one. Sigh.

Her wrist datapad beeped, and her eyes almost popped out of their sockets. 

_ Need to talk. Important. Sam _

“Bad news?” Jack’s voice was lower, gruffier. Concerned.

“Sam,” she tapped the datapad to put the screen to sleep, and settled a lock of hair behind her ear. “How did he get my ID? It’s -- internal. Overwatch only.”

“I’ll ask around. We can block him, too, if you want.”

She wanted to. Or better, she did not care how, but she did not want to talk to him. They had enough problems at the moment, and Sam would only distract her.

“He’ll get tired of trying at some point,” she made a thin line with her mouth. Blocking him straightaway would give him the impression that she still cared, for good or for bad. Ignoring him, though, would send the opposite message. 

“He’s never seen Fareeha, has he? Since you came to Overwatch, I mean.”

“And that’s how it will continue, if I can help it,” she deadpanned. “Please, let’s drop the subject. We’ve given him too much attention already.”

He gave her a fond smile and got up. 

“I’ll go see Gabe, maybe you want to tag along? Ah, I didn’t tell you, but the council did read your report and they want to recommend several soldiers for the rescue labour on the Gibraltar base. Reinhardt’s got quite a solid case for the Cross of Honour for Valour.”

"I’m sure he’ll be delighted,” she snorted and got up. “Come,  _ habibti _ . Let’s get you to the nursery for a while.”

Fareeha took a crayon from her mouth and pouted, and Ana sighed. 

“If you’re a good little lady, we can ask Jack to train with us later at the gym.”

“Yay!” She threw her arms up, and Jack chuckled.

  
  
  
  


The nurses made sure Gabriel’s IV was always full of everything he might need, so it was not a concern that he would wake up in agony. The metal rod that had perforated his shoulder could have killed him, but the nanites had repaired most of the internal damage already. It was just the fractures now; a couple of days more and the doctors would take the sedatives away, help him heal through soft exercises. The nanites and his super-soldier metabolism accelerated bone growth, among other things, even if at expense of the energy of the host. 

Jack grabbed a chair and sat down besides his friend, the extent of the injuries caching up in his mind at last.

“He could be dead,” he said at last, letting go a long breath. His hand reached out to touch him, and Ana was sure he would have grabbed his hand if his arms had not been in braces.

“Super-soldier reflexes,” Ana said, running her fingers through Gabriel’s hair and disarming his curls a little bit. Oh, he was going to be delightful when he finally woke up and saw he could not even pee without assistance. She pinched his cheek, fondly. “Gibraltar’s Commander could not say the same, and they were in the same room.”

“I guess,” he made a face. “I need to catch up with Reinhardt about all of this, it sucks. Have you got him a room and… clothes, I guess? Don’t think he had time to grab anything.”

“It had not occurred to me,” Ana crossed her arms and paced near the bed. She had been worrying about the new Omnic and their inability to progress in the war despite their efforts, she had not stopped to consider that neither he or the other survivors had nothing.

Sometimes she could not help but wonder if they were going to win the war, and what it would take. They were making baby steps towards tracking the god programs controlling the Omnics, but every day they lost investigating  was another day people died in the streets, and another day their extended Overwatch family suffered at the front.

She hated it, and it was at times like these that she tried to be away from Fareeha. She may be her strength and her core reason for fighting, but she was a child. Precious and pure, living among soldiers. She heard and saw enough that was not meant for her age already, and Ana did not want to pile up more on her little shoulders.

“It still be some days until he can get out of here, though, so there is still time.”

Jack looked at her pace, his shoulders tense all of sudden. There was something he was dying to say, but he did not seem to dare to. She wondered what could have his pants in a kn--

“You guys friends again?” He asked, and shrunk on the chair at her glare, raising his hands. “It’s an innocent question, I swear.”

“As innocent as Torb,” Ana crossed her arms, eyes studying every gesture he made. She could believe it coming from the engineer because yes, they were friends. But Jack-- Jack would have an ulterior motive, and she knew exactly what it was. “Don’t tell me; Gabriel organized a bet when she took me to Gibraltar with him.”

“Ah, Ana,” Jack ran a hand through his hair and laughed, blue eyes full of mirth. “We’ve been wondering for years when would you forgive his dare.”

“Me,” she looked at him, dumbfounded. “You forgot who ran several countries away to ignore me?”

He bit his lip, his amusement tingling with guilt, and Ana made slits with her eyes.

“Jaaack…?”

“Sending him was the best idea at the time. Promise,” he raised his hands again. “I could not imagine you guys would stop talking altogether.”

So, he did not run away. He did not ignore her because he did not care and, apparently, he missed her enough for Torb to get his nose in her life. That left her with two options, each more disturbing than the previous. He either still liked her, which was preposterous after almost three years, or he was being an idiot.

Or both.

Her wrist datapad beeped again, and she could have thrown it across the room. Sam never knew when to give up. The second time it was a bit more insistent, and she realized it was a call. Really.

“I can talk to him, if you like.”

“I’m old enough to deal with my life myself, thanks,” Ana said, her tone more curt than she intended, and she walked away from the ward. Talking in the middle of the Med bay was a no-no, but the datapad kept on beeping and she did not know where to hide from Jack.

She did not want to listen to Sam, and she could not care less about what he had to say. It was his choice to leave them and she respected that-- maybe she would have to remind him of it.

Her eyes danced around and she saw the line of doors of the Med bay lodgings. She bit her lip and rushed to the last one.

“<How do you dare to call me to my private ID?>” She asked in arabic, opening the door. Reinhardt was still asleep, good. “<Who gave it to you?>”

“<Ana, don’t hang up. I’ve good news,>” Sam rushed. His voice still held the same warmth, and it froze her to the core. “<I’ve heard Overwatch is looking for hackers, and I know of one that could help.>”

She stood in silence for a moment, her heart thumping in her ears. 

“<And you are calling  _ me _ to give us this information because you want something in return. From me,>” she said, trying to keep her voice from showing any distress. It was hard. It was horribly hard, because she  _ knew  _ what he was going to ask-- the only thing she had that could have any value to him.

“<I just want to see her.>” 

She closed her eyes at his words and felt a volcano growing on her chest.

“<You abandoned her!>”

“<Ana, I needed time,>” he sighed, his voice hurt. “<Everyone was dead, I almost did not make it. I just-->"

“<And I didn’t, right? I didn’t need time. They were not my friends, my father wasn’t there. The father of my daughter almost didn’t die.>” 

Her eyes filled with tears of rage and hurt, but she would not allow them to fall. He did not deserve them.

“<Ana-->"

She hung up. Screw him. 

Ana had never been one to love like others did. The consuming passion, the need of being one inside another, the fierce feeling of being rendered out of breath by the sight of the other half-- that was just not her.

She loved quietly, from afar, letting her actions speak what her body would not--and she did not need much in return, either. Snuggles, hugs, maybe a kiss now and then, and the knowledge of having someone having her back always.  _ Always _ . 

That was no joke. When she gave her trust to Sam she expected him to uphold it as a commitment, as something unbreakable that would keep them close, tie them forever. She would trust him blindly in every aspect of her life, and she expected,  _ hoped _ , he would do the same. 

But he did not. 

She liked to think she was understanding. With a hand on her bleeding heart, she knew how badly the death of their teammates had shaken Sam. How much he was suffering, and how much he blamed himself for it. She had pushed her own anguish in an effort to help him, but he pushed her away. 

The only thing left between them were screams. Cold shoulders. Indifference.

She had known him for ages, been by his side for what seemed a lifetime, yet nothing mattered anymore. Not even Fareeha.

To have a child was never part of her plans for the future, yet it had happened, and Ana stood up the challenge. After all, Fareeha did not ask to be born, and what could--should!--they do but try to give her the best life possible despite the shit world they were living in?

Everything went to shit, yes, but Fareeha was innocent. A baby. 

How could he abandon her? How dared he!

“Captain, you OK?”

Ana wiped her eyes quickly with the heel of a hand.

“Yes. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up,” she said, and and took a deep breath. It did not shake. Good. 

“I was, ah, half-conscious for a while,” his voice was thick with pain but, at least, he seemed to be himself. “Was not sure if it was you or...”

“Yeah, I’d never come around to visit, right?” She snorted, turning around and leaning on the table. He looked confused and somehow betrayed by her words, as if it was a little secret he did not expect her to know. “You don’t remember anything? Fareeha, the book of pictures?”

“I thought it was a dream,” he winced half-way through the last word, and pushed himself onto his elbows to shift position. That did not seem to work very well, since the wince turned into a grimace. For all Ana knew, the knee reconstruction was as painful and messy as getting a root canal done but without removing the big nerves and on a massive scale of moving pieces; something she would not like to experience  _ at all _ .

“You need more painkillers.”

“Wait--just,” he raised a hand, wiped his sweaty brow. “Give me a moment,  _ ja _ ? I can deal with it. For a while, at least,” he took a deep breath. “You didn’t seem very happy. Can also listen, if you want to--”

“Can you, now? That’d be a first,” Ana snapped, and she saw the hurt on his face, his shoulders slumping just like the previous day. Damn her quick mouth. If they had this conversation now, she was going to screw up for sure, so she went by the bed and pressed the assistance button. “I’ll better go now.”

She was already at the door when she stopped in her tracks. He had not tried to stop her. There were no ‘sorrys’, no hushed words. No drama. She looked at him through the corner of her eye and saw sadness. Resignation.

He was letting her go again, like after the improvised hug at the building, even though it was clear he hated the idea. 

Ana found herself making a thin line with her mouth. Her chest ached, torn open by Sam’s voice. She had let Sam walk away from her life, too, since that was what he had wanted, and he never offered her a word. He left her to deal with his silence, their heartbreak, and her self-loathing.

“Reinhardt,” she took a deep breath and turned around. If she left now, she would not be any better. Besides, she did not want to walk away. Not  _ like that _ , at least. Not if-- Not without talking first. “This is the worst time to talk about this, but I swear I’m trying to--”

“Don’t,” he said in a low tone, then smiled-- and it was the most fake and most miserable smile she had ever seen him attempt. “It’s ok. I’ll shut up and stay away for good. Don’t worry.”

She gritted her teeth in frustration, raised her head and forced herself to count to five. Getting angry would not solve anything and, if she was upset, he was not at his best, either.

“Why do you do this? It is not because you don’t want me close. Do you think I hate you, or something?”

His frown deepened.

“What do you mean  _ I think? _ l You won’t talk to me. Always glare. Disapprov--ah!” He leaned back on the pillows and held a fist against his mouth during the time it took him to be able to breathe again; with those cramps, he was not going to be able to cope without a lot of painkillers just yet. “I tried to keep you away. Happier,” he continued, strained. She could tell he was pissed, but he must be feeling so poorly he only could sulk. “Because you’re always mad when I’m around.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot.”

He made a gesture in her general direction, and she found herself cracking a little smile. It was so ridiculous she almost could not believe it, but she should have known by now he did not have a cruel bone in him. 

“Truth is, I thought you ran away and started ignoring me because I said no,” she admitted, looking at the ground. “So I acted in consequence.”

“That’d be despicable!” He protested, shifting on the mattress. “I wouldn’t do that. We are frien--” He took a sharp intake of breath and doubled over his leg, cursing through his teeth.

That was it. Ana walked to the door with the firm intention of finding the goddamned nurse that was taking forever to come around, and she almost collided with him as he came into the room holding a tray. 

“Sorry, took me a while to get what I needed,” the male nurse sent a bemused look first at Ana, then at Reinhardt, and sat down in a chair by the bed.

“Pain’s bad again?” He made a sympathetic face. “All right, I’ve got some painkillers for you and some nano food--among other things. Give me an arm, if you may.”

Reinhardt did not, if only because he was very busy digging his fingers above the brace and being a miserable grunting ball, but that did not face the nurse. He prepared a syringe and put an extra-long rubber band below one of Reinhardt’s biceps. The crook of his elbows had several needle marks already; It was a shame they could not afford more IVs, since it would make his ordeal much more bearable. 

“You guys friends already?” The nurse asked quite cheerfully, and Ana bit her lower lip. She was going to kill Gabriel. Slowly. “No? Shame. Well, this is done,” the nurse removed the needle and pressed a cotton swab to the skin, sticking it with a bit of cloth tape. “Pills are here,” he shook a little white box that he let by the bed, near the pitcher. “Take them after lunch.”

The creases on the Crusader’s face smoothed as the drugs took hold of him, and he let go a long, relieved sigh. The nurse pushed him back on the pillows, and rearranged the covers over him with a smile.

“There you go.”

“Thank you, my friend,” he said, voice shaking. Ah, the painkillers. Of course. “Captain, don’t--”

His eyelids dropped, and he snapped them open again for around a second before he was under for good.   


The nurse patted Ana softly in the back before leaving, and she let go a long breath, her eyes on the sleeping German. She felt silly, now. Should have tried talking to him at some point, instead of just shutting him out-- but she was good at that. Sam made sure of it.  _ Three years _ , she snorted, feeling a bit guilty now that the ache on her chest was slowly turning into embers.

Reinhardt had said they were friends, and she could not tell if he was a terrible liar or too optimistic for his own good. Or just an idiot, which seemed to be an exact definition of his persona. 

A  _ nice  _ idiot, thought, who had not changed a bit. One that would get himself killed one of these days. Throwing himself at the bastions with his injuries, really.

She had not mentioned it in her report, but he really must put some work on following the chain of command. This time she was displaced, undergeared, and it was his territory-- yet she outranked him, and what he did was utterly stupid. 

She just added that to the list of things to discuss, ranking just before she asked if he still had feelings for her. Her heart said  _ yes _ , but her mind knew that he had enough love for everyone at the base. In any case, it would be great if they could be friends, just like Jack and she were, but not if that would put him on an impossible position.

Her wrist datapad flashed again, and she looked at it thinking it might be the super-soldier.

“<Layout of omnium to share. Think this through, please.>”

Ana ran her hands through her dark hair, feeling a pit opening on her guts. Goddamn bastard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes about Sam:
> 
> I don't hate him, truly. But he needs to be a bit the bad guy here, bear with me. Also, I'm sorry but... He's Egyptian too. It makes all the sense that he is, and I didn't discovered he was not supposed to be when I had all this written already. So yeah. Sorry.
> 
> More notes:
> 
> \- Thanks for the kudos and the comments. I love to see what you guys think.  
> \- I love Torb, in case I had not made it clear enough yet <3  
> \- I know I deviate from the most common fanom version of Ana, but hey. She makes much more sense to me this way.  
> \- Do you know "True Love" by Pink? >8)  
> \- But, but, do you know "She's so mean" by Matchwell Twenty??


	7. May 2049 (13 days later)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes to visit. But fear not, Gabriel has a plan or two, and all of them involve Fareeha. Meanwhile, Torb is in a terrible mood -- and Rein is having a hard time at HQ.

Ana was anxious, and she hated that feeling. Being in control was part of what made her such a good sniper, and that was not compatible with her stomach dancing and her heart doing double time.

She was angry and disappointed in herself because of how much she cared about this, and she would be damned if she would let her teammates know. However, Jack sent her sympathetic glances every now and then and Gabriel--yes, Gabriel-- had brought her ice-cream and whiskey twice in a week.

At least, she had been able to keep Torb and Reinhardt away from her business, if only because the pair were in the engineering bay most of the time--yeah, it seemed to be best place to recover from injury. Of course. In other circumstances she would have probably paid a visit to the bay, but she just did not have the energy to deal with them when her thoughts kept on going back to Sam.

It was for a good cause, she kept saying to herself. They needed that hacker, and Sam was not going to take Fareeha anywhere. It would be a quick visit, and she would not be alone. Half of her hated the idea of being chaperoned, but the other half was grateful.

Someone opened the gym’s door and her eyes went there straightaway. It was Gabriel, clad in uniform, medals and all. His left forearm was still in a cast supported by a sling to take the strain off the healing shoulder but, other than than, he was looking quite well.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he made a gesture. “I don’t like it either, but this is official business between your country and the UN. One of us needs to be presentable, at least.”

Ana stopped the treadmill and stepped down, wiping the sweat off her face with a towel.

“When is he arriving?”

“In half an hour, at most.”

That was enough time to take a shower, and so she walked towards the locker room, the Commander following her steps.

“I thought you wanted to discuss stuff before he arrived? And you said, exactly before he arrived,” she heard him pull a face, his temper always shorter than usual when he had to play being a Commander.

“Yes. I want to know what the visit is about. What we will do. And where are we taking Fareeha to,” she said, getting into the shower while Gabriel grumbled and growled about being the best moment for doing that. “Spill the beans.”

“The idea is not to stay in one boring meeting room the whole time,” she heard him say, “That’d give Fareeha something to entertain herself with, and I can bore Sam with the base without you two having to look at each other.”

“You are plotting something, I know you.”

“I’m always plotting something,” she could imagine him shrugging lopsided. At least, he was honest; and that was what she liked best about him. That, and that he would not try to spy on her while naked--not since she broke his nose, anyway.

Ana got out of the shower clad in a towel. She had left some clothes there before starting to work-up; nothing fancy. She was a civilian in this case, and would let Gabriel play the Commander, the soldier, the boss. Whatever he had in mind, she hoped it would make the toast fall on her side instead of Sam’s. Not that she desired anything bad for him, though. She just did not want him anywhere close to her new life.

“That took you long enough,” he rolled his eyes. “We’ve got only seven minutes left. Happy to tell me now what was so important?”

“Nothing, really,” she tied her hair up into a high ponytail. “I just wanted to screw with you.”

“With me? Poor, innocent--”

“Bastard.”

Gabriel laughed, holding his bad arm against his chest.

“So you finally found out,” he bit his lower lip, eyes glinting. “So? You guys friends or more? Tell me it’s more, because I bet an unholy amount of push-ups on it and losing it’s going to hurt like a bitch with these arms.”

“Ah, _pobrecito_ ,” she snorted, using the little Spanish she knew; he would either understand or make his Mexican grandma ashamed. He put a hand on his heart, as if she had shoot him. Good. “I’ll take my revenge. Not sure how yet, but you can safely bet on that.”

“At least tell me you made him stop mopping about you,” Gabriel rubbed the back of his short hair. I need him looking neat for the posters, you know.”

Ana rolled her eyes, deciding it was a lost battle already.

“Let’s get over what we need to do quickly,” she said, walking towards the door, ignoring the Strike Commander’s cooing.

  
  
  


Clad in jeans and a plain shirt, clean-shaven and with his hair perfectly trimmed, Sam was as handsome as he had always been. Gabriel walked towards him and offered him a hand, since he was not wearing his uniform, and Ana squeezed Fareeha’s little shoulders softly. She had not told anything to her; there was no point in making her anxious about someone that she would not see again.

“I was under the impression your visit was official, Captain Muramak.”

“My superiors decided to call it in the last minute,” Sam said, his Egyptian accent thick on his voice, while they walked towards Ana. They were practically the same height, thought Gabriel was more muscular. “But I made a promise, and I don’t like breaking my word.”

He took a deep breath as he faced them, and then bowed graciously.

Idiot.

“It has been a long time, Ana.”

 _Not long enough_ , she thought, but bit her tongue in the last moment. Fareeha was more important than their feuds.

“Hi,” she said in the end, not even making a tiny effort to smile.

“And who’s this little lady?” He crouched in front of Fareeha, green eyes glinting, and she had to make an effort not to grab her daughter and put her behind herself. She looked at him, then at Ana.

“Mom? He’s got the same skin colour as us,” she said, eyes big. Ah, of course. Even if they had people from every corner of the world, they certainly did not have many arabs.

“That’s because I’m from the same place as you are, little one,” he grinned. “I’m Sam. What’s your name?”

“Fareeha.”

Ana’s heart hammered in her chest. Here he was, smiling as if this was nothing, as charming as he had always been, and the only thing she wanted to do was punch him in the guts and run. It was unfair. Unfair, that she got to feel like shit, unfair that Fareeha found him charming, and unfair that--

“Well, well! Let’s get on about our thing, then,” Gabriel took his beret off and put it on Fareeha’s head, making her giggle. “Forge ahead, Strike Commander!”

“Yes!” She jumped, and ran away from Ana’s hands, making guns with her hands and shooting at imaginary enemies.

“Wow, she is going to be quite the soldier.”

“That’d never happen while I’m alive,” Ana deadpanned, glaring at Sam. Who the hell did he think he was to make those comments. How could he say something like that, after what they had seen and lived through. How could he not, _at least_ , wish for a better life for their daughter.

“So, Captain,” Gabriel got between them quickly. “Just to make our agreement clear; your visit will stay between us gentlemen and lady.”

“That’s how it is, yes,” he nodded. “I contacted Ana about the hacker on my own volition, anyway. I find what you are doing commendable, and wanted to help in any way I could.”

“Most appreciated,” the Strike Commander fixed his goatee, looking at him with approval. “We are in need of allies, as any UN-allied government knows. It has not been easy to find the funds or the personnel to get our project rolling, if you know what I mean.”

Great. That was just great. Why not offer him a position at Overwatch while they were at it?  Ana restrained herself from raising a hand to cover her eyes. She was not taking this well. Not at all. At least Fareeha was having fun on her own, little treasure she was.

“This hacker of yours, how do you know him? Who is he?”

“Ah, well. I really cannot say,” he made a little gesture with his hands. “He doesn’t like people knowing about his life -- but maybe in time, he will trust you enough.”

“And why has a guy this zealous decided to help us?” Ana hooked her thumbs on the small pockets of her jeans. “What’s in for him?”

“He’s got his reasons.”

“Not sure that’s acceptable eno--”

“Sure it is,” Gabriel nodded, eyes glinting in a very particular way. “We’ve a war to win.”

She pursed her lips. Her mind told her Sam had no reason to betray them, but her gut feeling was that the could not be trusted. Him, or some hacker with unclear reasons why he should to help them. Yet, this was not the place or the company to discuss these issues with the Strike Commander. Maybe she could discuss it with Jack first. Yeah. Gabriel would be easier to convince if Jack was involved.

Fareeha took that moment she was busy with her musings as a clue to be cheeky, and pushed open one of the doors on the corridor-- the only one that had a red light above it, the only one she knew was strictly out of bounds.

Ana ran after her straight away, heart in her throat even if Fareeha had stopped almost by the door, hands covering her ears.

“I’ve told you a thousand times you cannot get in here,” she hissed, grabbing her by an arm.

“Sorry?”

“Not good enough!”

“Hey, Jack!” Gabriel called from Ana’s back. He and Sam had followed her to the training practice. ”Been looking for you.”

“Sir,” he saluted straightaway, all serious, rifle on his shoulder. It was wrong, so _wrong_ , but they always knew to play along when stripes and medals were involved.

“It’s all right,” their Commander made a gesture with his hand so he would stand down. “I was showing our visitor around the base.”

Jack secured the rifle and walked towards them with a very straight back and confident half-smile, clad in military fatigues.

“Captain Jack Morrison, Overwatch Strike Team.”

“Captain Sameer Muramak, 1st Corps Armoured Division, Egyptian Army,” they shook hands, and then Jack turned around.

“Hey, Ana,” he smiled at her with a warmth she had not seen in years, and patted Fareeha’s head. “Hey, Strike Commander, ma’am!”

“Can I see you shoot, Jack? Can I? Please?” Fareeha grabbed his arm, and he pulled her up as if she was a little monkey.

“No way, miss. You’ve already--”

“Go, Jack. Now that I cannot beat you at it,” Gabriel rolled his eyes in a very theatrical way, and Ana glared at them. Were they set on undermining her authority with her daughter in front of Sam? “And take the Captain here, have some fun while I take a break with Ana, eh?”

“But can I see? Please, mom?”

Ana took a deep breath and grabbed a pair of safety glasses and a headset and put them on her daughter.

“Look from here. Exactly here. Don’t want to see you moving an inch, it’s that clear?”

Fareeha jumped in place several times and blew her a kiss. _Blew her a kiss_. Ana snorted, but could not find in herself to stay angry with her.

Gabriel put a hand on Ana’s back and walked her towards the back of the room. She was not sure what the point of their little break was, but she humoured him and they sat on a bench.

“Did Fareeha know Jack was here?” She asked casually, sitting by his side and not losing her from her sight.

“Maybe,” he said, rubbing the forearm of his bad arm.

Shoots started echoing in the room as the two men fired in the range, and Ana had to cover her ears. Doctors said they had healed just fine, but loud noises were still particularly painful. Headset on, muffling most of the noise, everything seemed to happen in an alternate dimension where she was just a spectator.

Jack and Sam exchanged smiles, each more perfect than the other. Jack was taller, his back was broader, his muscles thicker-- but Sam had a way of moving that made him look like he could _flow_ like water if he wished it so. It was ridiculous, because he piloted tanks and robots and had never been one to fight hand-to-hand, but the potential was there. Had always been there. He rubbed the back of his head suddenly and laughed at Jack, clapping him on the back. Impressed, for sure. Jack’s aim was legendary, after all. Almost as good as Ana’s, just not with a sniper rifle.

A hand reached across her back and grabbed her right shoulder. She felt pulled in a lateral hug against the Strike Commander. He was looking at the same idiots she was, mouth pulled in that pout he made when he had lots of things on his mind.

He had been a bit different since he woke up from the drug-induced sleep. Ana could not tell exactly why and he had certainly not talked to her about anything grand, but she had noticed his eyes hardening every now and then without any apparent reason. It could well be he almost died and he had not made peace with the fact, yet. She let herself be hugged, and leaned on him.

Sam looked back every now and then, eyes looking for Fareeha first, who has enjoying herself like the kid she was, and then at Ana. While their daughter may smile at him, Ana would definitely not. She hoped, _wished_ , that he was thinking he could have had all this for himself and he did not.

 

  
After a while, the pair walked back to them and Sam waved a hand at Jack.

“He is fu--” he stopped, eyes big for a moment. “Fantastic shooter. Yeah. Fantastic. I’m certainly impressed. I hadn’t seen that skill since the last time I saw Ana shooting.”

Gabriel squeezed her for a moment before standing up.

“I only have the best of the best,” he smirked, smug. “Let’s go somewhere else before all this praise gets into Jackie's head.”

“I’ll tag along for now, if it’s all the same to you,” Jack stretched again. “Finished my drill for today, and there’s just paperwork waiting for me now.”

Ana took the goggles and headset from her daughter just in time for Gabriel ask the little Strike Commander to bring them somewhere else. She pumped a fist in the air and ran away. It was clear that he had talked Fareeha into his plan, whatever it was.

“I hope what you’ve seen of us so far reinforces your idea to share the hacker’s details with us, Captain Muramak,” Jack smiled politely.

Sam chuckled, showing the gap in his teeth he got years back trying to jump inside his robotank.

“The Strike Commander already has his details on the datapad, Captain Morrison,” he looked fairly amused. “I’m sure you are aware why I am here, though.”

“Oh, yes. Yes indeed. The UN are still recruiting allied countries that can help us win this war. It is only natural that you want to see our installations,” he nodded, hooking a hand stuffed lazily on one of his pockets. “We do get visits every now and then. Kids as well.”

Ana almost laughed at the string of nonsense and at Sam’s confused face. What was even better was that nobody caught on to it. Not even Sam.

“This is the Engineering bay,” Gabriel waved a hand at the two large doors in front of them. “Here we construct and repair our technology, which I’m sure you would appreciate, Captain.”

“Of course. I’d be delighted to see it. I’m a bit of an engineer myself, making improvements to my robotank when I can.”

Oh, yes. The little shit almost spent more time sleeping in the garage with the tank than with her. They kept on talking as they walked inside, but Ana’s mind was far from their conversation. Every time he opened his stupid mouth, a new memory nailed itself on her chest. She hated it. She hated it with passion.

“Fareeha! You little demon,” Torbjörn’s gruff voice was tinted with fondness. “Are you the Strike Commander, now?”

“Yes! What you doing, Torb? Tell me!”

Ana raised her eyes from the ground to see the engineer with her laughing daughter in his arms. At least, Fareeha was having the time of her life. Maybe she was too strict with her? She was five already, almost as tall as Torb, and usually very well behaved.

“What in the world is this?” Sam looked up at Reinhardt’s armour, his hand almost caressing the plate. “It is not a robot, is it?”

“Torbjörn, this is Captain Sameer Muramak, Egyptian army,” Gabriel introduced him.

“Ah, _him_ ,” the engineer left Fareeha on the ground and put his hands on his hips, totally unimpressed. He looked cross--more so than usual. “You’d keep your hands to yourself, mister Captain, if you appreciate them.”

There was no way Sam had not seen Torb, but he turned around again and looked at him up and down, his eyebrows going to his scalp.

Rude.

“Apologies,” he put his hands on his back and bowed slightly. “I got carried away.”

“Yes, yes.  My work has that effect in people,” he snorted and turned to Gabriel, arms crossed. “Have you all come here to make the old proverb of ‘one working five looking’ a reality, or did you want something?”

The Engineering bay did not seem to change no matter how many times Ana visited it. There were huge unfinished pieces lying here and there, engines, people cutting, slamming, and smashing as if they were a strange orchestra producing even stranger music. Torbjörn was always busy with something, day or night, Winter or Summer.

“This sweetheart is our Chief Engineer, Torbjörn Lindholm,” the Strike Commander rolled his eyes. “He’s in charge of--”

“Wait, I know you,” Sam clapped himself in the thigh. “From your work at the Engineer’s Guild. Your weapon designs are fantastic!”

Torb’s face soured even more, and Ana elbowed Sam on the back.

“Drop it,” she told him almost on his ear. “Not a good subject.”

Sam looked at her without understanding, but he did not have to understand shit. He just had to shut up before Torb tested said weapons on him. Fortunately, Fareeha came to the rescue, looking up at the armour suit that was at least seven times her height, eyes twinkling in awe.

“Ahhh, I love it!” She grabbed Torb and pointed at the armour with her free hand. “I want in, please!”

“Ah, afraid not, little cookie. It’s too big for you.”

“But I’m the Strike Commander!”

“If you are a good kid, maybe one day I’ll build one especially for you.”

“For real?!”

“Absolutely not,” Ana growled. This was exactly why she was strict with Fareeha. _Exactly this_. Once Sam was gone, she was going to get the whole Strike Team together and tell them to freaking stop humoring Fareeha about soldiers, armours, and whatnots. “Come here, young lady. Now,” she emphasized, seeing that she was about to protest.

Sam chuckled, eyes full of mirth and something else she was not able to read, and then looked around.

“We were hoping you could give the Captain a brief tour around the bay,” Jack leaned on a column of boxes. “Where’s Reinhardt, anyway?”

“Physiotherapy, I believe,” he rolled his eyes. “Not that he has told me, the big oaf.”

Gabriel and Jack exchanged looks. They were planning something, Ana could feel it, and it filled her with cold dread. Of course they would never leave them alone-- Gabriel was like a dog with a bone when he found something that amused him, and Jack was only happy to follow their Commander. Ah. But with Sam here-- Oh, dear.

“You two,” Ana raised a finger in their direction, and they just smirked like the little nasty super-soldiers they were. “Don’t make me kill you today.”

“Have you ever designed armour for Overwatch, master Lindholm?” Sam asked, oblivious to their little argument and looking towards several metallic plates hanging on chains above their heads. “Maybe something similar to those Korean Mekka blueprints that were leaked a week ago?”

Torbjörn crossed his arms, scrutinizing Sam in much the same way he had done to him earlier. By the way his bushy eyebrows bunched together, he still did not look impressed at all--or even inclined to be polite.

“No,” was his sole answer. Sam was not worthy of the explanation, of course, but Ana knew it translated into, no, he had stopped building anything that could be hacked into. His turrets, the armour he crafted for them-- all was designed so only humans could use it. He was not pleased with the arrangement but, at least, the Omnics could not use them against Humanity.

“Overwatch doesn’t have an armoured unit,” Gabriel pitched in. “We are mostly special ops, rescue ops, and infantry.”

“No? Then, what is this?” Sam looked back to the armour again. “Actually, it reminds me a lot of that crazy German armoured unit, you know the one? With the barriers and the huge hammers. They were annihilated, of course. I just don’t know what they were thinking, playing--”

“Stop putting your foot in your mouth, for Earth’s sake,” Ana grabbed his arm. That was Sam all along. Never stopping to consider what others may think about a topic before running straight through it like an elephant in a china shop.

Sam turned towards her, this time both surprised and horrified.

“Wait. You _enlisted_ one of them?”

A wrench flew past him; far away enough to be safe, close enough to make him take a step backward. Ana turned around to see Torbjörn taking a handful of hammers from his toolkit, ready to continue the onslaught.

“Get the fuck out of here before I run you out.”

“All right, everyone,” Gabriel put himself between Torb and Sam and pushed the latest towards the exit. “We’re leaving _now_.”

“I did not want to insult any of your colleagues, of course. It’s just I’ve always been studying other armies and--”

Torbjörn hammered on a piece of steel with such strength the sound echoed like a bell, and they rushed out of the Engineering bay.

 

 

“Excuse our engineer, please,” Jack said once they were safely outside, rubbing the back of his neck “It’s the first time I’ve seen him launching his tools at anyone.”

“--you know where it is, right?” Ana heard Gabriel asking Fareeha, and her daughter nodded.

“Of course! The Strike Commander knows it all,” she grinned, showing all her little teeth, hands on her hips very much in the same way Ana usually held hers when she was scolding someone.

“Of course,” he tried to cross his arms, but the most he could do was hold his bad arm against his chest.

When Fareeha forged ahead, shooting her twin finger-guns, Ana sighed. She did not want to know what they had in mind, she truly did not, but she could feel their intentions as clear as she could see her friends in front of her. Yet, what could she do to stop them?  She could say no, for starters, but that would not deter them. She could get serious-- and that would just throw more wood on the fire. Leaving was not even possible, not while Fareeha and Sam were around.

The only thing that she thought may work was damage control, sadly.

“It was my fault,” Sam continued, raising his hands. “I was inconsiderate. But, now that I know one of them is still alive, I must meet your colleague.”

“So you can insult him to his face?”

“So I can ask him to elaborate about the design and reasoning behind their armour,” he explained slowly, almost glaring at her, “since your team seem to have him in high esteem.”

“I’m sure Lieutenant Wilhelm would humour your questions as long as you are _respectful_ ,” Jack looked amused, but a crink on his eyebrows told Ana he was a bit worried. “I’ve never seen the man angry, but--”

“I’ll be on my best behavior. Apologies again.”

“It’s not us you need to apologize to,” Ana rolled her eyes. Gabriel grabbed her by the waist and squeezed her against himself, trying to stifle a laugh with a snort. He was clearly having the time of his life, and she elbowed him in the ribs.

“Cut it already,” she growled. “I’m never defending you two from shittalkers ever again.”

“Ey, I’ve done nothing!” Jack hurried in front of her, hands raised, and Sam’s laugh echoed around the corridor.

“Ah, I haven’t seen banter like this in years,” he said, stuffing his hands on his pockets, a sad smile on his face. She could imagine he was thinking about the friends they lost years back--just like she still did so very frequently. “You are a special team, indeed.”

“You mean they’re being especially stupid today,” Ana pushed the Strike Commander away. “To which I’d say no, they are always like this.”

They all stopped in front of the door Fareeha was barely holding open when they heard a bellow that would put an ox to shame.

Problem being, she knew that particular ox, and so did Gabriel and Jack. The look in their faces said their plan had taken yet another unexpected turn, and Ana almost winced at the sound of a loud German curse while Fareeha doubled over with laughter.

Ah. Torb said he was likely to be doing physiotherapy, did he not?

Still laughing, Fareeha rushed inside before Ana could even think to stop her. She was just in time to hold the door before it slammmed shut in her face.

“Rein!” She heard her call him out.  

“ _Mäuschen,_ why are you here alone?” Reinhardt’s voice sounded strained, yet it was daubed with fondness.

“I’m not alone!” Her daughter chirped, laughing.

“Captain?”

She opened the door enough to pop her head in, and saw the German sitting on the ground with Fareeha firmly attached to his neck. By his side there was one of their physiotherapists looking at her clock, unamused.

“You owe me three flexions,” she said, bending his bad leg and holding it in place. He winced, his whole body tensing. “Go. I’ve other people to help, you know.”

“Haven’t you tortured me enough already?” He asked, all puppy eyes, but she still held his leg in place.

“You want to get back into that armour of yours, you do your exercises.”

Ana felt a couple of heads popping over her shoulders, and she almost felt like they were spying on the poor man as he huffed while pushing the physiotherapist away. Fareeha was now kneeling by his side, looking at the whole process quite interestedly-- or, more likely, at the scars the surgery had left on him, since he was wearing shorts. Ana would have called her back, but she did not want to break his concentration.

Reinhardt cursed loudly again halfway through the exercise, thankfully in German, and the physiotherapist let go a long exasperated sigh. Then, she straightened his leg, making him groan and grab his thigh.

“It bad?” Fareeha put her little hands over his, looking at him with vague concern.

“Ah, I _really_ need a hug right now,” he whined, and Ana bit her lip with pride when Fareeha scurried between his arms and squeezed herself against him.

“You’re terrible,” she said, laughing.

“And you’re just like your mom, _liebchen_ ,” he chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

Ana let go a soft snort and felt a smile tugging at her lips for the first time since Sam showed up. She could not even measure the man’s silliness anymore.

 _Friends_. She would like that very much indeed-- but she still had not decided what to do, or how to talk to him.

Suddenly, there were not only two super-stupids on her back but also the cherry-on-top, and the weight of the three of them basically pushed Ana inside the room. At least, they caught their footing quick enough not to fall all over one another in a pile.v

“Ah, I was wondering where would you be,” the Crusader smiled at her. “Why are you all here?” He looked around, but then his smile faltered. “Well. _Almost_ all of you.”

“We’re showing Captain Muramak around,” Gabriel clapped Sam on the back, pushing him forwards. Reinhardt’s eyebrows rose a bit, but the physiotherapist securing his knee back in the brace took all his attention again. She stood up once finished, glaring at everyone in the room. Ana felt her pain; she was there to work, and it was just impossible with all of them around.

“Ice it at least three times a day, starting _now_ ,” she put her hands on her hips. “And take your pills, please. You really need to get these exercises done so we can move on to some real work.”

“Sorry,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll do it better tomorrow, that’s a promise. Ah, give me a moment, pumpkin,” he said to Fareeha. “Let me get up.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you did this on a bench or a table?” Ana asked, watching him squirming closer to a wall to get some leverage.

“He’s broken one of the rehab machines and snapped two benches in half already,” the physiotherapist snorted, and Ana rolled her eyes. She should have guessed. “Ice it. _Now_ ,” she pointed at him before getting out of the little room.

“Need to buy more German-proof equipment,” Jack chuckled, putting one of his large arms over his shoulders and pulling him up. “Ugh, and less beer!”

“There may be some truth in your words, as much as they pain me,” Reinhardt snorted as they struggled up. He looked worn out, as if he was not sleeping well.

His leg may be getting better, but the stubble that was almost a beard on its own right told Ana that other things were not. Yet, she had not really asked, being her mind preoccupied with Sam’s visit. Maybe she could recommend him one of their counselors, though, the one she usually confided in.

Fareeha jumped by his side, arms up, and he picked her up as if she was nothing, settling her on his left arm. To be honest, Ana had not expected her daughter to hold the Crusader in such high esteem since he had been away for years, but something told her _someone_ shorter than herself may have had sneaked her in the weekly calls while she was away on her missions.  

In a cross between hopping, stumbling, and shuffling, Reinhardt crossed the few feet that separated him from the team and stood in front of Sam, face grave for a moment.

“Captain, I’m hurt. You never said you had a brother!” He said, and proceeded to grab Sam in one of his patented bear hugs that also included Fareeha. If Sam wanted to complain, well, tough luck--his face was practically buried between a biceps and a pectoral. “Lieutenant Reinhardt Wilhelm, at your service. Any family of my friends is family of mine,” he continued, blowing raspberries on Fareeha’s shoulder and letting the other man breathe at last.

“Captain Sameer Muramak, Egyptian army,” Sam frowned, running a hand through his short hair. He did not correct the assumptions on his identity this time, either, and Ana could not help but wonder. However, he did not seem pleased. Not at all. “You must be the Crusader.”

“That’d be me, yes,” he puffed his chest, but there was no boasting, no flexing. Just grave pride. “How do you know us, my friend?”

“I serve at the Armoured Division,” Sam made a gesture with a hand, chin raised. “I like to study other armies. Learn what I can, improve my robotank to be more efficient. I must confess I’ve always been curious about your armours.”

“My actual armour is a modification,” Reinhardt said the words quite slowly, his brow crinking. “But you can see it in the Engineering bay.”

“I have already. Pretty impressive. I wonder--”

“I saw it too!” Fareeha squeed quite loudly, taking a handful of the German’s t-shirt on her hands. “You let me in? Please?”

“Fareeha!” Ana put her hands on her hips. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Ah, you’re too small, _mäuschen_ ,” Reinhardt pushed her up so she could climb onto his shoulders. The way he was bearing his weight on his left leg made him look a bit like a crooked tower, but the girl held on to him just fine. “And we don’t want to make your mom angry.”

“Pah. Being the Strike Commander is no fun,” she pouted.

“Someone that finally understands,” Gabriel sighed theatrically, and Jack gave him a push.

Reinhardt turned again towards Sam, who had been cut off by Fareeha’s intervention. He did not seem angry, but there was something in the tightness on his jaw, the way his eyes wrinkled.

“What were you saying, my friend?” He asked, patting him in the shoulder. He looked around after that and hopped back to the wall where he had left his crutches. Fareeha laughed, having the time of her life.  

“Ah, nothing important,” he waved a hand. “I was just wondering what would be stronger,  your armour or my robotank.”

There was a moment of deafening silence while they both looked at each other, perfectly serious and composed. Then, Reinhardt walked back to them with a little _dangerous_ smile on his face.

“That would be an unfair fight,” he said, juggling with the crutches and Fareeha’s attempts to descend from his back. She ended like a bag of potatoes over his shoulder, flailing and laughing.

“For you?”

“Of course! I’d need to let you win, you’re our guest!” Reinhardt snorted. “Anything else would not be right--unless winning at arm-wrestling is allowed?” He looked at Gabriel, and the Strike Commander smiled like the cat that ate the cream.

“Oh, I don’t think the Captain would feel offended if you won fair and square, Reinhardt.”

Ana tried very hard not to hide her face on her hands, but Sam laughed instead of swallowing the bait.

“You know, I was tempted to accept for an instant, but this-- I’m a grown-up, I know when I’ve lost,” he made a gesture with his hands, then rubbed his short hair. His stance had relaxed somewhat, too, and now there was something akin to sadness on his eyes. “I consider your part of the deal paid, Strike Commander.”

“I’m glad. Hope you enjoyed your tour.”

“What deal?” She looked at Gabriel, an eyebrow raised, and he got behind Jack with a quick sidestep. “There was only one deal, and _I_ was the one to pay it off.”

“I wanted to see your team, Ana,” Sam admitted. “I wanted to know that you two were doing good, but I sure wasn’t expecting this. They could be faking it, but her?” He shook his head. “I’m glad that you have some good people with you,” he finished, waving a hand at her idiot friends and Fareeha.

She was on the ground now, shooting at Gabriel with her finger guns while he feigned a horrible death. Then, it was Jack’s turn to fall to the ground, groan included.

Ana’s breathing caught on her throat. She had never been so painfully aware of being part of the Strike Team’s dysfunctional family of idiots. Her idiots, that were supporting her without asking any questions, the ones that treated her daughter as if she was their own.

She looked down for a moment, gritted her teeth, and swallowed the lump on her throat.

Partially.

“We are good,” was the only thing that she managed to say.

Sam nodded slowly, the little smile on his face fading. Maybe he was expecting her to say something deep, or to praise his long-awaited maturity. Not happening.

“Well. I think this is my hour slot gone anyway, isn’t it?” He said. “Would appreciate a tour back to my helicopter, Strike Commander.”

“We’ll all go with you, make sure you don’t knock me down and stay around spying on us,” Gabriel chuckled, taking Fareeha with him. Jack laughed --it was actually quite impressive how much Sam was putting up with these two without batting an eyelid. Maybe he had, indeed, grown up.

Ana sighed, but she was smiling out of relief. It was over, at last, and they had secured a hacker to help them against the omniums. Her eyes caught Gabriel’s--he was both proud and amused, damn it, and he elbowed Jack so he would look at her, too. She was going to kill them for setting her up like this. And then, she was going to treat them to the best chocolate ice-cream with whisky her Captain’s rank could get her.

 

\--00000---

 

Reinhardt stared blankly at the door. He had hesitated for a moment between tagging along and going to sit down somewhere comfy, but the choice had been made for him. The others had just left the room among laughter, closed the door in his face, and had not looked back even once.

The silence they had left behind was deafening.

Sure they had not realized it. They were just happy that everything had ended well--he was, as well, even if he was still not sure who Captain Whatever was. Gabriel said he was Ana’s brother, but he was more likely to be Fareeha’s father.

He would not know anytime soon, though. Ana may not hate every move he made now, which was an improvement, but she had no interest in talking to him, either. He had tried a couple of times, but she had always been busy with this or the other, and-- anyway. Better not to think about it.

At least, it had also been nice to get the team together for a change. _Almost_ together. He rubbed his stubbled cheek. He wanted to pay Torb a visit, but he could not deny he was a bit scared to pop by the Engineering bay--it was not easy to dodge wrenches with a bum leg.

Torb had been in quite a bad mood for the past week --or, at least, Reinhardt had only noticed it once he managed to leave Med bay. The engineer had been able to track down the factory where the monstrous Omnic came from, which happened to be an omnium somewhere in France, but that only seemed to have pissed him off even further. The last drop was the afternoon Ana mentioned his fight with the bastions after Reinhardt was _totally not_ complaining about  his access to the gym being revoked.

Ah, he had not expected him to get angry--well, _angry_ did not convey the amount of cursing and wrenches that flew towards his head.

He did not understand why it was such a great deal. The Crusaders would have never seen his standoff against the bastions as something bad, or worrying. If anything, they would have had supported his choice of avenging his friends.

Reinhardt shifted, feeling the bite of the crutches on his forearms, the weight of his whole body on his shoulders. He missed them. He missed his squad, their banter when they managed to survive yet another long fight, and he missed Rosa’s glares when she had to repair his armour. He missed Marta’s playful flirting when she had too much beer, the incredible cooks they had at the canteen who would always allow him seconds... even thirds.

Almost three years of memories made him swallow hard.

He better go to ice his knee.

  


 

His favourite spot nowadays was the couch at the Rover meeting room. It was large enough to hold him stretched out as long as he was alone --which, sadly, was not a problem-- and the coffee table in front of the screen was the perfect height to stack on a bunch of pillows to support his leg.

By his side, he had a pack of cold gel and a little box of drugs he had collected from Med bay--and that he did not want to take. He had weaned himself off them as soon as the pain had been bearable, but the nightmares had persisted nonetheless. Falling asleep was getting back to the screams, the fire. Machine guns firing and airplanes bombarding his position while everyone died by his side. The few that survived were blown up to pieces while he could do nothing about it.

Nightmares after a bad mission were not that rare but, in the past, he had grabbed the datapad were he kept all the pictures and videos he had collected through the years and at least, _at least_ , he could stop seeing his friends’ faces covered in blood and dirt.

He did not have that luxury anymore.

Everything he had was lost in Gibraltar’s blast. All his pictures, included the copies he made since the Omnics hacked every single storage cloud in the world. The presents people had made to him over the years, the parts of his gryphon armour. Sara said her mother had some pictures of Gibraltar, and promised to send them to him--but she had already left HQ to get back to her native, destroyed rock.

He rubbed his burning eyes with the heel of his hand and switched on the screen. He hated having this much time to think, damn it. He should be at the gym, or arm-wrestling someone, or, at least, having beer.

He hated feeling this alone.

  


The beeping of his wrist datapad startled Reinhardt awake. He shifted to ascertain the danger--and the armrest cracked under his fingers as he jarred his leg down the pillows. He groaned between his teeth and ran a hand over his face.

At least, he could not remember what he was dreaming about.

The datapad kept beeping; It was Torbjörn, asking for his whereabouts with his natural gruffness. Five minutes later, he joined him at the meeting room--which was a surprise. A pleasant one, for a change.

“You still look like shit,” the engineer snorted, sitting by his side on the couch. He had left the contraption he wore on his left arm when working at the bay but, other than that, it was clear by the smudges on his clothes he had come directly from there.

“Yet, I’m still striking compared to you,” Reinhardt half-smiled. His friend had no idea how much a sight for sore eyes he was. “Not angry at me anymore?”

“Have you got any more sense in that scatterbrain of yours? No, right? Then I’m still angry,” he crossed his arms, but was not looking at him. There was something odd about him. Something he could not pinpoint. “Did you manage to talk to Ana?”

“Well...” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I think she’s kind of avoiding me.”

“Bet she was busy with the whole Captain Arsehole business. Did you meet him?”

“He has a stick shoved up his arse, true. But he knew about the Crusaders, so there is that.”

The engineer’s face soured straightaway. He seemed about to say something, but he gritted his teeth instead, glaring at nothing in particular as if he had eaten a bag of chilies.  

“Is everything alright, my friend?”

“No, it’s not,” he growled, then took a deep breath. “But I came here to give you something, not to bore you to tears with my problems.”

“Nonsense. You’ve been in a foul mood for days straight. I’m happy to listen,” Reinhardt grabbed his leg with both hands to shift it more easily. Pain was always worse when his leg was off he brace, and it made his eyes go straight to the pill box. Ice was not helping much and, the sooner he could get through his exercises, the sooner he would get his life back.

But later. When Torb was gone. If painkillers were strong enough to actually help, they made him feel even worse than he was feeling already.  If not, they did nothing at all.

“So, what’s the matter?”

The engineer pursed his mouth and remained silent for a moment, as if he was weighting the pros and cons of telling him what was on his mind.

“Talked to Ingrid some days back,” he said at last. “She said there’s a blockade in Sweden. That she’s struggling to feed our kids,” he leant his chin on his hands. “My family is starving while those blasted Omnics use my designs to kill my neighbours, and I’m here twiddling my thumbs. I cannot even talk to her now.”

“Sure there’s--”

“Can you imagine how many families are struggling? How many parents, brothers, kids are screwed up? Dying? Dead just like the guys at Gibraltar? All because of those bloody robots I helped build,” he continued, raising a hand to his forehead. “Now, my family’s caught in it, too. Which is only fair, of course it is, but it still I makes me wanna rip my beard off.”

He was talking like a machine gun, and Reinhardt felt for him. Even though he knew Omnics and weapons were hairy subject for his friend, he had never seen him this distraught.

“It’s been a fucking horrible fortnight,” Torb continued. “And, if the Omnics rampaging were not bad enough, Captain Stupid thought he could sweet-talk me about my weapons-- and you went to fight a bunch of bastions crippled and without your weapon, you bloody German.”

“Ah, that-- It sounds much worse when you put it that way...”

“It _is_ as bad as it sounds!” The engineer raised his hands in exasperation. “What in the world was on your mind?”

Hah. He did not want to remember the details. Not at all. Not ever.

“We Crusaders--”

“Yeah, yeah. Justice, honour, and glory. At this point, I know these as if I had made the oath myself, and it still only tells me you Crusaders are one sandwich short of a picnic,” Torbjörn rolled his eyes.

“I could have taken them down,” Reinhardt said, scrunching his eyebrows together. It was on his honour to bring those Omnics down. And he would have done it, his leg be damned, even if his friend disapproved strongly about it. “Besides, the Captain was--”

“Saving your arse? Sure she was,” he crossed his arms, looked at him, and finally snorted. “Look, just don’t do this again. You think it’s all glorious, but running to your demise is the most stupid thing you can do besides building weapons that can be used against your family.”

Reinhardt rubbed the back of his head, messing his golden hair. No, dying in combat was not as glorious as he had once believed. And it was even worse for those that were left behind.

Was that ultimately why he was so angry?

He knew a lot of people. He could have a drink with almost anyone on the planet, happily. But friends that actually cared for his well-being enough to actually confront him over it? He could count those on the fingers of one hand--and most of them were not among the living anymore.

The irony. He hurt so much about his lost friends, and yet he could not see how his actions affected others. Ah, he felt like an idiot, now. A _loved_ idiot.  He really needed this today.

He squeezed the engineer against his side.

“I didn’t know you liked me this much. I’m honoured!”

“I don’t like you! Far from it,” The engineer snorted, but did not pull his arm away. “You give me nothing but hard times, breaking your armour every single time you get out there or getting yourself mauled. Or both!”

Reinhardt laughed, and it felt like it was the first time he did in a long time.

“Next time you decide to dispense justice, make sure you’ll live long enough to tell the story _before engaging_ , you hear me?”  

“I’ll do my best,” he put a hand over his chest as if he was taking an oath. “Thank you. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

“Pah. Don’t jest,” he looked down, shoulders slumping all of sudden as if all the anger had dissolved in thin air now that it no longer served any purpose. Reinhardt’s _alleged_ recklessness may have sounded like a big issue but, of course, it was nothing compared to Torb’s family’s problems.

There must be something they could do. There was a blockade, right? So they would be missing food, clothes-- all the basics.

“What about we go to Sweden?” Reinhardt scratched his growing beard. Sometimes the easiest solutions were the best. “It’s not like we have huge salaries, but sure we can buy some gifts for your family. And sure we can find a way to help the town a bit, too.”

“We’re at war, idiot. We cannot--”

“Ah, of course we can. You’ll get me to a good Swedish doctor. For my leg.”

Torbjörn took a big breath and turned to look at him with huge eyes.

“Actually I know-- well, I did,” he looked a little sad for a moment. “They were Swiss, though. But they used to work at a very good hospital, and I’m sure I can get you a consult there.”

“See? Easy!” Reinhardt placed the cold gel pack on his knee again and shifted slowly, trying to get more comfortable. The engineer shook his head, but he was _grinning._ Ah, he was glad to be of help.

“I’ll make some calls. We may be able to leave in the next three days. Three days!” He jumped down the coach. “I’ve lots to do before we go. Get to the bay every now and then, eh?”

“Sure, my friend.”

He was by the door when he stopped and came back to the couch.

“Actually, I came to see you because I’ve sent you a bunch of files and almost forgot,” Torb’s grin changed into a sort of know-it-all smirk. “You need to stop sending me things when you’re on painkillers. I’m scared next time they won’t be safe for work.”

Oh dear.

“Go on, open them up. I’ve got lots to do!”

Reinhardt connected his wrist datapad to the screen. His inbox flashed slightly to announce an unread item, and he rubbed the back of his neck. Another horrible side-effect of painkillers was that he could not remember much of a quite long period of time-- or, if he did, all his memories were blurry and dream-like.

He opened up his mail item. The screen divided itself to display ten thumbnails-- and he stopped breathing.

There was him flexing his first armour ever, which was not even finished yet. Balderich and him at the tavern. A long shot of Eichenwalde with their whole team once the German army had conceded them their official status.

He could not register the rest because the world blurred up.

“Come on! You’ve not even taken the painkillers yet!” The engineer laughed, patting him on the good knee. “I must confess Captain Idiot made me remember these may still be in my inbox. We may have to redeem him, after all.”

Reinhardt grabbed him in a bear hug. He could not ask for a better friend, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and the messages you leave to me, you are the best *huuuuuggg*
> 
> Only one chapter left, and we start Part 2! While this chapter is not anahardt itself, it felt it covered an important part of the lives of several people, which is important for the story. The next part addresses Ana and Rein's relationship as it is now, stay tuned.
> 
> \- Song for this chapter: Torn, by Natalie Imbruglia. It pretty much sums up Ana's feelings.
> 
> Let me know if you hate this, or if you are having fun.... what kind of chapters you like better? Something you'd like to see?


	8. Jun 2049

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't always get what you want, but sometimes you just might find you get what you need...

It was late. Late enough for Reinhardt to be hungry after flying across Europe, and late enough for the canteen to be  _ closed _ . To say that he was disappointed was an understatement; he had been dreaming of getting a good meal after two weeks of going hungry. Torb’s wife, Ingrid, had tried her best to keep him well-fed, but he had declined politely all her attempts to smuggle more food into his plate. After all, they had traveled to Sweden to help them, their neighbors, and their rampaged city as much as they could, and he was not going to eat through their meager provisions.

Any other time, he would have emergency supplies stashed in his cabinets; biscuits, chips-- anything that would last and was easy to smuggle, but he had not even started to make his new quarters his own, yet. 

He rubbed his rumbling stomach with both hands and sighed. Ah, well. He would survive one more night-- hopefully, by dreaming of  _ kalbsschnitzel  _ with  _ rosti _ and  _ emmentaler apfelrösti  _ for desert. That was the best part of being stationed at Switzerland; food always reminded him of home.

As he was walking back to the dormitory wing, still thinking about mouth-watering Swiss-German food, someone called his name across the corridor.

Gabriel walked towards him with the half-smile of the cat that ate the cream. He stopped by his side, hands on hips. There were several thin scars crossing his right cheek and nose but, other than that, nobody could ever tell he had almost died a month ago.

“I see the holidays did you good,” he said, clapping Reinhardt in the arm. “How’s the leg?”

“Ah, it’ll be better than new in no time,” he puffed his chest. They have been in contact via secure comms while in Sweden, so Gabriel knew most of the details already. “Need to pass a couple of tests to be cleared for work, but nothing major.”

What Reinhard had omitted was that one of those tests was with their counseling team. They had very politely requested him to set up a series of appointments that same week and, oh, boy. He was truly not looking forward to that.

At least, his leg was better. The Swedish hospital’s good doctors made two little incisions in his knee to poke here and adjust that, and it had been way less painful since. The moment he managed to work through his physiotherapy exercises, everything started to get better. Not to say that feeling helpful in Sweden really helped his mood and nightmares.

Of course, he could not jump, or run, or even walk very fast just yet, but he was lucky -- _ very lucky _ \-- that Overwatch could use nanites to speed his recovery; during his brief visit to the hospital, the doctors told him that the prognosis of an injury like his was more than six months until full recovery, and he would make it in barely two.

Six months. He would have gone nuts. 

“In no time, right?” Gabriel asked. “I hope so. We got some very useful intel from the hacker,” his face soured, “but we cannot get past a certain door.”

“What do you mean, get past a door?” Reinhardt asked, changing weight from one leg to the other. Sure, he may not need crutches to walk anymore, but standing up made him ache-- and standing up for a long time resulted in cramping muscles. “Have you tried ducking? I need to do it all the time!”

“It’s not that kind of door,” he snorted, almost laughing. “Ah, but you know some engineering stuff, don’t you? Actually, could you go to the holoroom and see if you can lend a hand?”

That was not what he was expecting to hear after roughly one hour of being back at Headquarters, but it was an honour that their Commander asked for his help. Besides, keeping himself busy would take his mind away from his hunger. 

“Of course, my friend. Happy to help, if I can.”

“Great. Ah, by the way. I’ve been reviewing several alternatives to rebuild Gibraltar’s base. I’d like a word with you tomorrow about weak spots and your overall experience there to make it to last this time.”

_ This time. _ Reinhardt’s smile withered as the memories of the lost place bit him, but he nodded while half-consciously making fists. It was a great opportunity to right a wrong and honour the fallen.

“Sure! We’ll make it unbreakable!”

“Thanks, man. Talk tomorrow, then. And great beard, by the way,” Gabriel chuckled, pointing at him briefly before leaving.  

Reinhardt puffed his chest, pleased. Ingrid had had enough of his scruffy looks on the second day he was lodged at their place. He had to admit that he had been scared shitless when she appeared in front of him armed with a pair of scissors and a razor, but he could not be more grateful that she did. She had taken great care in trimming his hair so it was stylish yet comfortable when he wore the armour’s helmet-- and she also fixed his beard at the same time.

The style was so different from his usual grooming that he could not recognize himself in a mirror at first, but it had been a good start on the road of feeling better than a rug, actually.  

Plus, he had always liked beards with bushy chops.

Ah, he missed Torb and his family already. Those two weeks had really done him good, even if they had been challenging and exhausting. The twins were Fareeha’s age and, despite the war, it was impossible not to cheer up when seeing their antics.  

No wonder Torbjörn was always moaning about never going home. If Reinhardt had a lovely family like his, he also would. They would need to invent some other excuse to get back before the year ended, he thought, turning to his right and arriving at the training wing.  

The virtual reality facilities were not one of the biggest departments at the Headquarters, yet it was one of the most secure one. At the door, Reinhardt had to provide his surname and rank to the computer, which then matched his voice against its database. When the first two lights went green, he looked into a small screen--or better, he aimed his bad eye at it and hoped it would work.

After a couple of tries, the door opened with a clunk noise, and he went inside, his hand touching the smooth, cold wall. 

The room held twenty rigs hooked to the large, cylindrical computer in the center. The first time Reinhardt walked down the corridor, he looked in awe to the claw-like supports that held soldiers while training over a mobile platform. Things in Germany were much more old-fashioned and physical --something he always favoured-- but he had to admit that being able to reenact past missions or learn the disposition of a building was quite handy.

The light was dim, which was a sign that there was a session in progress--but the rigs around him were empty and he could not see anyone. He stopped, hands on hips. He was not going to walk around for nothing.

“Hello?” He called, loud enough to make his voice echo in the room. Even if they had the virtual reality headset on, they should be able to hear him. “Anyone home? Aha! I see you, my friend,” he chuckled when a hand popped over the rigs; he was the best at finding people.

The groan that came with the hand was one he knew well, and he almost,  _ almost _ , decided to walk away-- but he was in a good mood, just returned, and he could take on anything. Besides, Gabriel had asked him to help-- and help he would to the best of his ability.

“I wasn’t expecting you around this late, Captain,” he said, walking towards her. Actually, she always dedicated her nights to Fareeha, so what they were doing must be something really important. “Don’t worry, I’ve--”

“Why are you back so early? I wasn’t expecting you for another week.”

Ana was dressed in one of the special suits that allowed the computer to mimic most sensations experienced in the virtual reality world, her long raven hair cascading over her shoulders. Her headset was engaged, so she could not see him and, by the way she was holding herself, she seemed to be trying to handle something.

“I’ve just arrived,” he said. “I thought Torb could use some time alone with his family. As grateful as I am, they had pampered me long enough.”

She did not answer that, and he tried not to feel disappointed. He had not been expecting a welcome party, but even Overwatch’s stray cat had been happier to see him. Ingrid, bless her, said he needed to be patient, that Ana just needed to remember why they were friends for everything to fit together again-- but, truth was, he sucked at being patient. He just wanted to be able to have a laugh with her again,  _ now _ .

He rubbed the back of his neck and turned around, finding the room empty but for the two of them.

“Where’s everyone, anyway?”

“Everyone?”

“Gabriel said--” Reinhardt stopped immediately when he heard her long, exasperated sigh. He raised his hands asking for peace even if she could not see them. “Of course, I can go away and, ah, let you get on with whatever you were doing, if you don’t require any assistance.”

There was a moment of silence after which she put a hand on her hip. 

“Easy-- I want to kill him, not you.”

“Maybe you can invent different growls for us, then. That’d help,” he frowned, and she chuckled under her breath. “What?”

“You may be onto something, there. I’ll think about it before as I go to bed.”

“You don’t need me, then?” Reinhard held his weight on his left leg, putting a hand on the opposite hip to balance himself. He was starting to get really hungry, and he rather go to sleep before chewing on some of the furniture became a bit too tempting.

Ana’s hands were over her headset, and she was probably ready to give the computer the order to disengage when she stopped. Without seeing her face completely, he had no chance to guess what she was thinking about but, suddenly, she dropped her hands.

“I can stay a bit longer, provided you can get in the rig,” she said at last.

“Of course I can!”

“Oh, really? How’s the leg?”

In other circumstances he would have had gone into detail, but it did not feel like she really wanted to know-- not even the short version. 

“I’m good,” he put his hands on her slender shoulders, slowly, so she would not get startled. “No crutches, see?”

“No crutches, but…?” She cocked her head, waiting, and he let her go. He always thought her superpowers only worked when she had eye-contact with her victim but, apparently, they went beyond that. “I guess no running, jumping, or kneeling. Anything else?”

He was impressed. And scared.

“I cannot stay on my feet for too long, yet.”

“Let’s use that time wisely, then,” Ana snorted, but there was an enigmatic, if slight smile. “Go.  I asked facilities to put a suit in your locker. I’ll move to the rig that’s next to yours while you get changed.”

Well. That was the best, most civilized conversation they have had in ages. It was a start.

  
  
  
  


It was three years since Reinhardt had opened that locker but, somehow, it felt like yesterday. Even if this was a newer model suit, the outfit was still plain grey. It had sensors across the body and limbs to ensure the computer could send accurate readings of enemy fire, if required-- and it was as skin-tight as the one he used under his armour.

He hissed when the fabric rubbed against the tattoo he had done on his right shoulder blade less than a week ago; it was bothering him more now it was healing than when the artist was actually doing it-- but then, the half bottle of whiskey he had drunk while at the salon may have helped.

Deciding on the tattoo had been easy after reflecting on the past weeks. What had happened at Gibraltar had been nothing but a tragedy, but it had hardened his resolve to help Overwatch prevail against the Omnics. They had to make the difference because, if them soldiers were struggling, what hope did innocent families like Torb’s have? 

No, he would not let them down. That was a promise. But he would need help to keep his resolve in the dark days to come. Something to anchor him to his oath, his commitment, something that gave him strength when his own faltered-- and nothing suited that purpose better than the crest of the Crusaders.

Honour. Glory.  _ Justice _ .

Even if he would always treasure the memory, he did not need his gryphon armour to remember his people, or to show others who he was.  _ Our legacies are our deeds _ , Balderich told him once and --surprise-- he was right.

It was time he started working harder.  

Reinhardt rolled his shoulders, trying to calm the itching on his back and flexed his arms, tightening the muscles in his shoulders and chest. The suit felt  _ tighter  _ than he remembered--and he chuckled. Despite the last shitty month where he had not exercised and had barely eaten half of what he was used to, his workout routine in Gibraltar was still showing. Good. 

Now, he just had to get a couple of good meals in him and hit the gym again. He would make his friends proud.

“Lead the way, Captain,” he called as he walked away from the lockers, his voice echoed again in the room. “I don’t remember which one was my rig.”

“Good Lord, stop it before I end up as deaf as a brick. I’m to your right.”

Ah, now it was all coming back. Torb had reinforced the supports on one rig so they would hold his weight in low-gravity situations; flying, or jumping from ships. Its anchors looked bigger, sturdier,  _ stronger _ ; just like the anchors of all of them should be, if anyone asked him. He got on the platform--a sort of conveyor belt that would allow him to move on the virtual world without actually going anywhere-- and hooked the cables and cords to the different ports on the suit. Once that was done, it was only the headset left. It felt as if half a helmet was strapped to his face, hugging the back of his head with more sensors to track his movement with accuracy.

It was not the most comfortable garment ever but, if he charged a wall to help Ana years ago, he could definitely wear it for a while. 

_ Welcome, Lieutenant,  _ a computer voice chimed in his comm device. The claw-like anchors strapped themselves to his midsection, clicking in place to the suit, and the computer pulled him up a good five feet to move him in all directions, testing that the rig was in optimum condition before starting.

The virtual reality headset engaged the moment the test stopped, filling his vision with blackness for a moment, then fading gradually to wherever place was loaded on the computer.

His feet touched the ground the moment the transition was complete, Reinhardt looked around. He was inside a massive building with grid floors. Industrial, not exactly taken care of. Everything had a strange  _ orange  _ feeling; it could be the lightning or just rust accumulating virtually everywhere. Maybe both.

There was a staircase going down to his side, and the grid under his feet let him see through to the floor below-- he seemed to be atop some sort of tower from where he could not see the actual ground. In front of him, Ana’s avatar was kneeling by a cylindrical structure that resembled a boiler of some sorts. 

The computer had a model of each of their faces that was taken the first time they used the holoroom. Rendering hair was not exactly something the program did well, and so her avatar had it strapped in a low ponytail that was practically glued to her back. He had checked his own avatar the first time he used the training room, and he had been cringing for days afterwards. Maybe his short hair would fare better, though. He would have to update it next time.

Their bodies, at least, were adjusted each and every session based on the readings of the sensors, and the feeling of height and weight was quite accurate.

“Took you long enough,” she teased. “Come here, want to show you something.”

Reinhardt did as instructed, but he could not help but keep looking around. The scenario was strangely soundless. Perhaps the hacker had forgotten to add audio. Or perhaps it was quite loud and they turned it off, he thought, realizing there were conveyor belts several feet over their heads carrying--  _ oh shit _ . 

“Is this an omnium?” He gasped, watching bastion pieces getting picked up by robotic hands and deposited them on a different belt. 

“The one in France, apparently. Our next target.”  

“Do we have the whole layout?” He looked around, mesmerized by the belts, cranes, and lasers soldering pieces above them. “This is amazing! I want to see it all! How big is it, anyway? Ah, you must show it to Torb. He would love it!”

“You mean he would hate it.”

He frowned for a moment, considering her words. Yes, she was right. He would be able to see his technology everywhere, and that would really piss him off.

“But,” he raised a finger, “if he can see how the different models are built, or where, he may get an idea of how better to destroy them!  _ That  _ would make him happy.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now. Unlike others, I’ve not been on holidays--” she patted him in the arm. “I’d like to get this sorted if we can, and then go to sleep.”

“Of course, sorry,” he chuckled, but lowered his head. “How can I better help you?”

“We believe this is the key to open a section of the omnium that we have not seen before.” Ana removed a plate covering part of the cylindrical structure in front of them. “Don’t ask me how we know that, it’s taken us two weeks to reach this far-- I’m not explaining it in three minutes.”

“But, how can a lock get placed on the building layout? I mean…” He stopped talking to look at what was under the cover, and he raised his eyebrows. There were a number of thick grey cables, several dented gears and a camshaft. “This  _ whatever _ the hacker has provided, is not like the simulations we use.”

Sure, their usual simulations were greatly detailed-- doors opened and closed, control panels were all where they should be, just like plants, trees, chairs… but they had no logic imbued inside. Elevators did not work, nor did the traffic lights or any other thing that actually interacted with the world. 

At least, not if they were not programmed for it. 

“No, it’s not,” her voice was tense, something that was probably showing in her face but that her avatar was not able to convey. “I wonder how he got this in the first place. Makes me think we are walking into of a trap of some sort.”

“A trap,” he gasped. “You think he may be an Omnic? A God program? Wait. But your brother--”

“He’s not my brother,” she sighed. “And if he’s ratted us, I’ll personally cut off his nuts.”

Aha. So Captain Silly was Fareeha’s dad, just as he suspected. He snorted, smirking, and crossed his arms. The poor bastard had it even worse than he did, even if that was cold comfort.  

“Come back to Earth,” she pushed him. “You know what to do with this, or do I go to bed?”

“What is the actual problem, again?” He asked, and he swore he could feel her glare even if her avatar barely blinked. “I mean, is there a button that does nothing, or…?”

“Ah, yes,” she reached out for a big red button, the only one that was there, and suddenly the gears started moving. It was so strange they did not sound and, he blinked on purpose to make sure he was not dreaming. He pushed the cables to one side, trying to see what else was there in that cramped space. 

“So?”

Reinhardt was not good at this. Not at all. He had  _ an idea _ of how to fix part of his armour but, beyond that, he could only use his imagination-- and it was full of tales and stories, and not precisely about great engineers.

The cams went up and down, and the hand he raised to rub his forehead ended hitting the headset instead. What was that Balderich used to say while they were prototyping the armour? The fewer moving parts, the better? Actually, maybe he should ensure everything was moving, for starters. 

The thick grey cables were still too much in the way, so he pushed them with a forearm while he counted the cogs. Two to the left. One down. Three more to the right that were practically embedded on a plate, and there was something down and right to the camshaft that did not seem to be moving. It was dented and roundish, so it seemed to be a small cog. If only he could find out what it should connect to-- 

“Ow, shit!” He yelped and shook his hand when he felt an electric jolt up from his hand to his elbow. He may not be able to get his real fingers caught on the mechanism, but the suit would inform him when his virtual ones did. 

“Lucky you, we configured the room on the lowest settings,” Ana chuckled. “The first time I tried messing around with it, my arm was numb up to my shoulder.”

“ _ Ja _ , lucky me…” Reinhardt frowned, but got his arm back inside the gap, using the plated wall as a reference to retrace his way back. What was also very, very inconvenient was that he had to bend all the way to reach the gears, and that was killing his back-- all, to avoid bending his knees.

“So, did you find anything interesting?”

“Maybe,” he prodded around and growled at the current running through this fingers again. Without illumination and in such small space it was absurdly difficult to find what should move the little cog, but he could swear his fingertips could touch a shaft. If this was a real machine, he would disarm the whole plating and be done with it. But being virtual, they either programmed it away, or he kept bending awkwardly until he got lucky.

He grunted at the umpteenth jolt and lowered himself to one knee to give his arm better reach. That was quite a bad idea, but it was just a moment--a well-used one. Reinhardt grinned. There was a loose cog lying by the shaft, jumping slowly with the shaft’s motion. Of course, if there would have had any sound he may have heard there was something loose, but who needed to play in easy mode, anyway?

The little cog fitted in once he could get it to mesh with the teeth of the immobile cog, and he got up again, taking his arm out and flexing it straight away.

“Well, that was easy!  Let’s just see if--” The cambelt where he was sitting on, the one that was part of the rig and that allowed free movement when walking, started rumbling and trembling. “Is this supposed to happen?” 

Ana was on her feet before he finished asking, looking around. 

“I don’t know what’s--”

The virtual ground went down, and they with it. The claw-like arm on the rig pulled Reinhardt up and he oofed at the sudden squeezing of his ribs. He looked at the belts over his head, the bastions parts getting smaller and smaller as he fell along with Ana. The orangeish walls seemed to have no end-- but they eventually did. And when the staircase rebounded at the end of the drop, soundlessly, he braced for impact instinctively. 

And what a good thing he did.

The rig, which was designed to provide its user with a  _ safe _ virtual reality experience, dropped him from its maximum vertical height of five feet. That was nothing compared to the drop in the virtual world, nor it was anything that would have faced him in other circumstances-- yet it was far more than his leg needed to start hurting like hell.

His knee gave out on impact and, unable to absorb the energy of the drop, Reinhardt fell straight on it again; the claw strapped to his midsection stopping him from free-falling to a side or on to his face.

“Computer, keep the session but disengage us,” he heard Ana say as he shifted to a sitting position, holding his leg with both hands as if to stop it from splitting in two; his bones had turned into white hot nails from the knee all the way down his ankle. The pain was receding already, but all he wanted to do was limp up to a comfy place where he could stretch. And ice. And an ice pack would be really, really appreciated. 

“ _ Unauthorized _ ,” the computer-lady chimed in.

“What do you mean, unauthorized?” He growled. 

“Computer, disengage us  _ now _ ,” Ana tried again, her avatar looking up. 

“ _ Unauthorized _ .”

Reinhardt could hear Ana’s grumbling under her breath before her avatar knelt by his side.

“I’m sorry. I think we may have hit the trap,” her hands hovered over his for a moment before making contact. “First the rig dropped us down like that, and now it doesn’t let us go offline.”

“Ah, screw this thing. I’m going to rip it off--”

“Wait,” Ana squeezed her hands slightly. “That will trigger the emergency shutdown of the whole room. I’ll get you out, but I want to stay in, see where we are. Advance.”

“But it may be dangerous,” he frowned, then shook his head. No way he was leaving her in a trap. Not on a thousand years. “I’ll stay with you. Leg will be fine, just give me a moment.”

She stood up. The avatar would never be as graceful as she was, yet it mimicked the way she arched her back perfectly.

“Computer, disengage the Lieutenant--”

“Captain, stop--”

“-- override protocol AH892-JUGR00.”

The claw around Reinhard’s midsection opened up, and his headset went black. He took it away and ran a hand over his face. Shit.

“What if there’s another trap?” He said, frowning. He got no answer. “Would you at least let me know, so I can get there with you again?”

There was still no answer, and he let go a frustrated huff. Why in the world would she just stop talking to him now? Reinhardt frowned and looked to his side. Her rig was the next to the right. She was there, standing up but not moving. Not moving  _ at all _ .

He scrambled up using the rig’s structure to keep his balance. Pain shot down his shin as soon as he put weight on his leg, but that did not stop him from hobbling towards her.

“Captain?” He called, eye scanning her. She seemed to be carved in rock-- hands making claws, mouth open in a silent gasp, the legs spread apart so slightly. She did not answer. Did not acknowledge him.

Screw the program and the room, and the Omnics as a whole. 

The belt whined at the weight of both of them combined, but it held. He grabbed the cables on her headset and ripped them off in a harmless rain of sparks.

The room lights popped into life and the arm attached to Ana’s midsection retracted with a soft humming noise. She dropped like a rag doll, hair flowing after her as she fell, and Reinhardt caught her before she hit the ground. Her dark skin was pale, clammy, but she was breathing. 

What had just happened? What had the computer done to her? He did not trust the room enough to call anyone; he would have to walk out, try his luck at the corridor-- provided the whole base had not been hacked. 

Cradling her in his arms, Reinhardt limped past a couple of rigs before he had to stop for a moment for a stretch. Bearing weight was a struggle, but possible nevertheless, which probably meant he was just half-screwed.

He was almost at the door when Ana took a big gulp of air and flailed, punching and kicking in all directions to get herself free.

“It’s ok, Captain _ , _ ” he said, but she growled like a feral animal trying to escape. Her fingers dug into his neck, her knees pushed against his chest as her back arched away from him. He tried to restrain her using his huge hands to his advantage, but she was swift and nimble-- managed to connect one of her elbows to his face, which made him take a step back onto his bad leg. 

He yelped and tumbled backward, trying to regain his footing while Ana crawled over him and tried to jump over his shoulder. His back found a wall when he was sure they were going to end sprawled on the floor, and he had to pull her by her suit to stop her from hitting the wall head-first.

“Stop,  _ maus _ , you’ll hurt yourself,” he held her tight against his chest and yet she still struggled, groaned, and trembled-- it broke his heart to see her like this, but he did not  _ dare _ to let her go. If only she would stop struggling, he could actually took her to the Med-- “Ow! No biting,” he whined, pressing his head against hers. “You’re safe, I won’t hurt you. Please, settle down--”

The words died in Reinhardt's throat as his calf tensed painfully. He rebalanced his weight and leaned the back of his head against the wall. A moment. Just a moment. That was all he needed to stretch his leg and stop it from cramping worse than it was-- and that was also what Ana needed to headbutt him in the jaw.

His teeth crashed together, missing his tongue by a hair’s breadth and, with only one leg to support him, the motion threw him off balance. Reinhardt tried to grab the wall on instinct, allowing her to scurry away from his grasp. Or  _ almost _ , since he was still grasping one of her wrists. His weight pulled her over him, and he grabbed her in a bear-hug as his back hit the ground.

One of her arms was free, though, and it took her a second to launch her hand straight at his face. Her nails were short, thankfully, yet they scratched at his eye before he rolled on his side and pinned her to the ground with a submission hold. His thighs held her legs in place, and with a forearm he was forcing one arm and her torso to the ground. He had taken care to get his bad leg under her so, even if it was giving him hell, he was not going to move. 

Ana trashed and huffed. Her free hand reached out as a claw, trying to hold onto something, and he just had to apply some pressure to the arm lock to make her cry out. He could very easily dislocate her shoulder in that position.

“Don’t make me do this,” he applied a bit more of strength and her nails scratched the ground weakly. “Please.”

She groaned in pain and hid her face in the ground. So much strength in such small body. So much will, and fierceness. He already knew Ana was unique among hundreds of thousands, but he was impressed. And mildly aroused. He knew that was the adrenaline of fighting but, if she was anything like this in the bedroom-- wow. Captain Stupid sure was the biggest of fools.

Ana seemed to have calmed down after a couple of minutes, but she was a very capable fighter. If he was not careful, she could get away again and, unlike him, she did not have any qualms in maiming--

A sob made her whole body tremble under his, and he raised his eyebrows.

“Captain?” He tried, and let go a relieved breath when he heard a muffled  _ sorry  _ coming from her. He let go the arm hold, and she choked on another sob and hid her head in her arms.

“It’s fine. Glad you’re back,” Reinhardt let her go, and she curled in herself as much as she could. He shifted to a sitting position while rubbing his aching leg. The knee had taken the brunt of the fall, yet he felt more pain down the shin--maybe because he had crash-landed just like in Gibraltar. 

A hiccup coming from her made him bit inside his mouth. He wanted to hold Ana, comfort her, but she might freak out again and try to, well, kill him. She may also hate him big time for touching her, and their frail relationship may never recover from it.

Ah, but she was so miserable… 

Screw it.

He scooped her up with ease and deposited her on his lap, keeping her curled between his arms and his chest. She hid her face on her hands, her body shaking with each sob, and Reinhardt pressed his cheek to the top of her head. 

_ C’mon, she needs you. Say something. Anything! _

“Bad’s gone, now,” he said in a low voice. Her soft hair smelled of pines and mint, and he could not help but swallow. He had dreamed of having her in his arms plenty of times, but his imagination did not do reality justice. Not by a long shot. “You did well, Captain. Put up a good fight, too! We, ah, should spar sometime, eh?”

She looked up, tears flowing down her cheeks, and her breath caught for a moment. Her hand touched his scratched eye, the bloodied lip he did not even remember getting, and then she threw her arms around his neck.

He forgot how to breathe.

“I wanted to kill you,” she said in a hoarse voice. “I wanted to gouge your eyes out and break your neck with my hands--”  

“N-not your fault,” Reinhardt stammered, pressing her closer to him. Oh, boy. She had never hugged him back--  _ never _ . She was so warm. So small against him… He caressed the back of her head softly, as if she could turn to smoke without notice, hoping she could not feel his heart hammering on his chest. “You won’t-- I mean, you are a good person, Captain. Wouldn’t do this on purpose, not even to me,” he squeezed her, cherishing the feeling of closeness, burning it in his mind. “However… you may have some nuts to cut.”

Ana laughed and sobbed at the same time, her fingers scratching his back -- _ ow _ , the tattoo--, and he leaned his head on hers again. She snuggled her face on his shoulder, and feeling her warm breath on his bare neck made Reinhardt melt into a pool of bliss. She cared about him, after all. Despite all her growling and glaring, and despite her silences, there was still a chance she would be his friend.

_ His friend _ .

The blissful feeling turned into a dagger through his chest, and he could not help but squeeze her against him.

 

  
After a while, one of Ana’s hands ran through his short hair, and she pushed herself back to look at him with a little frown. It was only then that he noticed.

"Your eye,” Reinhardt cupped her face softly to move her head to the side and look at her better. The iris was completely dark instead of golden. “How had I missed it before? Do you-- Can you see anything? Damn. Let’s get you to the Med bay.”

“It’s fine,” she put a hand over his to take it away, then dried her eyes with her fingers. She seemed more composed now, and so he let her go. Her small fingers squeezed his arm in thanks, and she lowered herself to the ground by his side. “It’s a cornea implant. It just itches a bit, and can be fixed.” 

“But we should really go. Get you checked.”

“I know, but Gabriel is going to kill me,” she sighed, lowering her head and raising her knees against her chest. “I may have--”

“He is indeed!” A voice growled over a sudden clacking noise-- the sound of several weapons being cocked. Ana got on her feet effortlessly and Reinhardt scrambled up, gritting his teeth when his leg refused to bend. When he managed to straighten up at last, he found Gabriel and a bunch of soldiers aiming at them. “You have two seconds to show me you’re not compromised,” the Commander growled. “One--”

“It’s all my fault,” Ana walked in front of the Commander before Reinhardt could stop her, hands up. “Sorry.”

“ _ Sorry _ won’t cut it at the UN board,” he lowered his semi-automatic pistols and the soldiers behind him stood down, too. “Get changed right now, and go to Med bay. I’ll see if there’s anything else I need to fix before I meet you there.”

  
  
  
  


Reinhardt closed the door to the doctor’s office and limped towards Gabriel, leaning on the wall for support. His leg did not hurt even a fraction of how it had before he left for Sweden, but it did not just ache, either-- and, now that the swelling had settled in, it was not exactly fun to walk.

The x-rays had come up clean despite the pain in his shin, and the doctor had explained that nanites were not miracle workers. The leg was still recovering from the very complex fracture  _ and _ knee surgery, and a rough landing like that would have upset every healing tissue from the thigh to the ankle. She had soaked a cohesive bandage in some sort of nanite-food gel before applying it to all the length of his shin but, since the knee felt stable, she had not immobilized it. The compression knee bandage he was already wearing should help with the swelling, and there should be nothing to worry about as long as he rested the leg. That was something he could deal with, even if it meant yet more boring time in the Rover room.  _ Ugh _ .

“Hey, man,” the Commander greeted him without turning around. “How was it?”

“It seems I’ll be a couch potato for yet another week,” he said, sitting on a bench by his side.  He activated the cold pack the doctor gave him with a couple of shakes and put it on his knee over his cargo trousers. “No news about the Captain, yet?”

He shook his head, pacing in front of the door behind where Ana was. Tense. Angry. 

“I was wondering…” He continued because, really, he had not had the chance to speak with him yet and he had indeed been wondering while the doctor was checking up on him. “How did you know to come by?” 

“You think anyone can use my override code and I won’t know?” Gabriel grumbled, looking at him askance. “I’ll strangle Jack for giving it to Ana. If we hadn’t designed that room to be outside the main computer grid, we’d been completely screwed up.” 

“But I don’t understand how the code managed to--”

“She basically gave the hack control over the whole room--the  _ whole _ room. Do you know how powerful that computer is? What can it do?” He turned to look at him, and shook his head. “Obviously not. Nor did she, apparently.” Gabriel seemed disappointed, now. “It accessed her brain by using her corneal implant.” He must have seen the question on Reinhardt’s face, for he sat down by his side and continued. “She’s a fantastic sharpshooter, of course she is. Yet the implant was the only condition she put on joining Overwatch.”

Reinhardt rubbed his right thigh absentmindedly while looking at the closed door. He had no idea she had an aiming aid, nor how it even worked. Since it was important to her, he was glad that the doctors could fix it-- probably replacing it with a new implant, somehow. Eww. He would rather not have anyone meddling with his bad eye, thankyouverymuch. With his luck, they would give him a red eye like in that shitty old film Balderich liked so much about the robot that came from the future to kill someone or other.

“And thank God we use a VR room instead of a training room with robots, or we would have had a little army of murderous omnics at home,” Gabriel kept going, leaning his head on his hands. “Whoever planted the hack there, didn’t have enough intel about us. That’s the only good news.”

“The Captain said she was worried there may be a trap.”

“Yeah, we talked about that, but couldn’t think of anything specific. Of course, I couldn’t have imagined she would override the room’s security system. Argh, cheer me up,” he pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. “Tell me you guys are friends already.”

“I wish I could be certain, but…” Reinhardt trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t have the best record on understanding her, you know...”

“Ah, yes, she’s a daunting woman,” Gabriel sighed. “I admire your efforts, but I’d rather look for someone like Jack. Straightforward and loyal as there is.”

“Now, that’s--” Reinhardt stopped talking and looked at him, eyebrows raised and head cocked. “Wait. You like Jack?”

“What?” The Commander’s eyes went wide open and he jumped off the chair. “I didn’t say that! I meant look for someone with--”

Reinhardt’s laughter boomed down the corridor, fueled by Gabriel’s increasingly outraged stance. If his skin was paler, he sure would be cherry-red by now.  

“I don’t-- STOP LAUGHING you goddamn OAF!”

“Don’t worry, my friend,” he dried his eyes with a hand. “Your secret is safe with me!”

“There’s no secret--”

The door they were guarding opened up, and one of the doctors stepped outside, clearing his throat and glaring at them.

“Apologies,” Gabriel lowered his head, still glowering, embarrassed, and hating Reinhardt with all his body language, which was very amusing. “Is the surgery done?”

“Indeed,” the doctor, a middle-aged man with roundish glasses called Evans, said. “She’s alright. We have not detected any anomaly or damage to her brain, but I suggest we keep her monitored for a week, see if there are any changes.”

“Good. Thanks, doc. Can we visit her?”

“Sure. Five minutes, and you can come in.”

The Commander sat down by Reinhardt’s side once the door closed, and punched him in the shoulder,  _ hard.  _

“Bloody bastard. Here I was, worrying about you, and all I get is teasing.”

“You  _ do  _ sound like Jack, now,” he snorted, half-smiling. “Does he know, by the way?”

“Reinhardt, I’ve no qualms about beating the shit out a disabled jerk. Just so you know. Also, I’ll visit Ana first, screw you.” 

“Ah, stop being a grump,” he grabbed him in a side-hug. “She’s fine, and we know how to get deeper into the omnium, now-- though I won’t repeat the experience, if you don’t mind…”

The door opened up again, and a handful of doctors and nurses went out. Gabriel got up, and took a deep breath. 

“I expect a full report about the omnium tomorrow  _ in writing _ ,” he said, pointing at Reinhardt. “And stop with the puppy eyes. I’m not looking. Not looking at all,” he gave him both the back and the finger, and walked inside Ana’s room.

  
  
  
  


Reinhardt looked up when the door opened again, and watched Gabriel’s straight face draw a grin. It was an  _ evil _ sort of grin but, after knowing him for years, he had concluded it was the only way the man could smile.

“Get in there. And don’t screw up this time,” he cackled, walking down the corridor and not stopping by his side at all. “And remember the report!”

The report, yes. He had been thinking about that. Had even been tempted to record an audio version on his wrist datapad, but he found a better way to entertain himself while waiting.

He got up by leaning on the wall, straightening the stiff knee slowly. The doctor was reticent to give him crutches so as not to impair his recovery time further, and he did not complain. He despised them already-- and it was not like he was going to walk that much, anyway. 

Ana let him in after he knocked, yet he looked inside for a moment before walking in. It was quite a small room, but it had a side-door that connected to one of the theaters, where they had surely done the surgery on her eye.

She was sitting on the bed, wearing a plain grey hospital gown over which her braided black hair stood out. A white patch covered her right eye, but there was no signs of discomfort in her face. He was glad of that.

“Coming in?” She cocked her head, and he made his way to the chair closest to the bed, where he flopped down. Ah, the only good side of his predicament was that he did not remember his empty stomach at all. “How’s your leg?”

“Ah, it’s--”  he was going to say ‘fine’, but he could see in her raised eyebrow that she would not have it. “It’s sore, but should be better in a week or so. But, what about you? Your eye?”

“The doctors will take the patch off tomorrow,” she tucked a rebel lock behind her ear and smiled softly. “So, it’s fine.”

“I’m glad! I have to say I was a bit confused when Gabriel said it was an aim aid. Didn’t you see well enough already?”

“Gabriel talks too much,” her smile sharpened as she glared, but then she relaxed again somewhat. “I did see just fine. But I wanted to make sure that, when your lives depended on me, I would not miss the shot.”

“Ah, that’s commendable! Thank you.”

She frowned, as if she was thinking how to retort to that, but she stayed silent instead. He hated those silences, because they always made him think she was uncomfortable talking to him somehow-- so he searched in one of his pockets and produced a paper flower. 

It was a bit scrunched now after sharing space with the now lukewarm cold pack, but he tweaked it here and there and left it on her lap. Ana took it on her hands; the Overwatch symbol was watermarked on every sheet the nurse could find for him, so it was colourful in a pale, strange way.

“You shouldn’t have,” she sighed, and bit her lower lip. 

“Nonsense. It’s the least I could do since you’re here because of me again,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I would have brought you flowers, but,  _ again _ , couldn’t find a bouquet. It may be because I always search for them at unholy hours, but that’s a different story...”

“Reinhardt,” Ana squeezed his good knee, softly. “Do you mind if we have a chat now? I know it’s quite late...”

“I always have time for you, Captain!” He smiled, and stretched his legs a bit to get more comfortable. In the past, they had spent afternoons together watching telly or just chatting-- maybe they were on friendly terms again, after all! “What shall we talk about?”

“Actually, I have been thinking about what you said,” she looked down, and her hands played absentmindedly with her braid. “About us being friends. And I don’t know how to make it work.”

Or maybe, he was totally misled.

“I don’t understand-- We just… talk? And laugh, and possibly have beer sometime?” Ana remained silent, and he continued, thinking that maybe he was not getting his point across. “We haven’t seen each other much this month, but--”

“It’s not that,” she finally stopped him. After taking a deep breath, she looked him in the face. “I would like to be your friend, but I don’t think you’re over this-- over me. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The room suddenly became really hot. As in, so hot, his cheeks were burning and he had to swallow before he could get some air. He was about to say something, but he could not find the words. The way her golden eye was piercing him made his brain fall back to German and forget every English word he thought he knew.

Reinhardt rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. He had never experienced this superpower of hers before, but it was as unfair as the mind-reading one. However, it was clear that the long day must have taken a toll on her, though, since-- well. If she could really read his mind that well, she would have  _ known _ .

Yes, of course he liked her and, of course, she… she was not interested in him. He had made his peace with that years ago. But she cared about him and she wanted to be his friend and, damn, that was more than he had hoped for in the past few years. It meant having her back, watching films, getting food, hanging out after missions, playing with Fareeha, squeezing her against his side for being so damn cute, making her laugh.

That meant  _ everything  _ to him.

“Only a fool would not like you, Captain,” he said after a while, a small smile on his face even if the words felt heavy on his tongue. “But whether I get--” He swallowed. He had one chance to get this right.  _ One  _ chance. “What I mean is, I  _ know _ .”

Reinhardt leaned on the mattress and lowered himself on his knees, trying to keep himself from grimacing and completely ignoring Ana’s alarmed remarks. Ah, he did not remember what  _ bad _ was until his knee actually held his his three hundred plus pounds.

“Are you out of your mind?” She was actually kneeling on the mattress by his side, grabbing one of his arms in a panic, and he managed to half-smile.

“Fareeha always says I’m a knight,” he said. His hands had found the bed frame and were squeezing it to death. “And as such, I swear on my honour, on my Crusader vows, that I will be your friend or anything else you want me to be.”

“Whatever!” Ana was slapping his shoulder. “Just get up before you hurt yourself even more!”

Getting up felt impossible, so Reinhardt used one of his hands as an anchor to push himself to the side and sit down. He bumped into the nightstand, making the pitcher on top rock dangerously, and groaned in relief when he could take his weight off the leg at last.  _ Ow _ , damn. He needed more ice. Like a bucket full. 

“ _ Ya Allah _ ! I don’t know what to do with you anymore,” she huffed, running her fingers over the bedding and leaving soft lines on it. 

“Hopefully, watch some films with me while my leg gets better…”

“Damn it, Reinhardt! You just can’t--” She stopped herself suddenly and rubbed her face. There was an overall feeling of sadness and defeat in the way her shoulders had slumped. It reminded him painfully of their attempt of having a conversation at the aircraft while they were returning from Gibraltar, and his later conversation with Torb. 

Clearly, he had screwed up again without even realizing it. Shit.

“Apologies,” he said quickly and lowered his head. “I was just trying to get my point across better… I, ah, never intended to worry you, neither now or when I fought the bastions. I promise to take better care of myself-- starting, um, now?”

His words met a wall of silence. Ana was looking at him from above for a change, glaring even if her power was halved now she could only use one eye. He wondered if this was how the Roman gladiators felt while waiting for the Caesar to choose their fate-- only to conclude it was worse. He rather face danger, bastions, and certain death than her scrutiny and silence.

Shit.

“Anyway, I, ah… Just wanted to say I would like to be your friend,” he continued, leaning his arms on the mattress and his chin on his arms. He had stopped looking at her, if just because it made it easier to ignore the fact that she was thinking hard about them and probably hating every second of it. “But I will also limp away if you want me to. I just, well, hope you don’t...”

Reinhardt could not help saying the last bit in a lower voice. He could well swallow his feelings and be her friend forever but, going back to being nothing but strangers while seeing her practically every day? He was not sure how he could cope with that.

Seconds stretched like years, and she was still silent, her eye boring a hole through him. Reinhardt bit inside his mouth, trying to be patient and not succumb to desperation, but the silence was grating on his nerves. He was contemplating the option of kneeling again, if only to keep his brain engaged in a different kind of pain, when Ana spoke.

“You say you would limp away, but you cannot even get up from there,” she snorted softly, surprising him. That was not what he was expecting to hear, but she was not pushing him away just yet. By the time he looked at her again, she was already off the bed, kneeling by his side. “But I’m glad, actually.”

“You’re glad that I’m miserable and in pain at your feet?” He frowned a bit, half confused and half teasing her, but Ana paid him no attention. Instead, she rolled his trouser leg up enough to expose his new bandages. Her small fingers rubbed at the very edge of the bandage, softly, as she made a thin line with her lips.

“You’re an idiot for kneeling like this, but I’m also to blame. I should have never let you get on the rig in the first place,” she said, looking sad again.

“Captain--”

“It’s Ana,” she took a deep breath. “It’s about time you stopped calling me that when we’re not on duty.”

Reinhardt gaped at her, frozen in place for an instant.

“Does that mean you’re done hating me?” He asked in a thin voice, unable to believe his ears. “Sorry if it’s a dumb question. I just don’t know anymore.”

A smile touched her lips, buts she did not answer. Instead, she felt his knee with nimble, careful fingers.

“Sitting on the ground like this would only make the swelling worse. Shall I call the nurse for help, or…?”

“It’s ok, I’ve done this before. But,” he frowned a bit, “would you tell me before my hair goes grey?”

“Get up, first.”

And get up he would, even if it was the last thing he did. 

Reinhard put both hands on the ground to use his arms for support. He had done this a handful of times already and knew how to work around his bad leg so it hurt as little as possible while pushing himself on the good one. Stil, when he sat down at the edge of the mattress after having bumped into the chair, the nightstand, and the bed itself, he was gritting his teeth.

“So…?” He asked after a moment, when the burning ache running all the way down his ankle had subsided.  _ Ow,  _ damn, really. He was not looking forward to hours and hours of being bored out of his mind again. Not when he had been that close to get back to the gym. 

Ana sat on the bed, close to him but not enough so they could touch. Then, she curled her legs under herself with envidiable ease and sighed softly. She looked worn-out, the patch on her eye not helping. 

“Do you promise to be honest with me if-- if this friendship arrangement doesn’t work?” She asked, playing with her lovely long braid.

That was a  _ yes _ ? God, It sounded like a  _ yes _ !! Reinhardt bit inside his mouth to stop himself from shouting out loud.  Ah, he could not believe it! At last, she-- 

He closed his eyes for a moment, his hands grabbing the edge of the mattress and squeezing it. He would have hugged the air out of her, cuddled her against his chest and never let her go, but it could not be. Yet he felt relief, as if someone had taken a terrible weight off his chest.

“You know,” he said after a moment, putting his best serious face. “I should kneel to make you such a promise.”  

Ana smacked him on the head so quickly he did not even have time to duck. 

“I was joking, just joking…” He chuckled, and then he bowed down and made a gesture with his hand. “If anything ever prevents me from fulfilling my oath --which I doubt, but nevertheless-- I swear I shall tell you, Ana.”

Oh, bless. Her name rolling off his tongue was so sweet he could not help but let go a long, content, bittersweet sigh. 

“I’m honoured to call you by your name. And double honoured to have your friendship again.”

“Stop being an idiot, please,” she said, her lips curving in a little smile. But then she snorted, and her smile grew until it lit up the whole room. It pierced straight through his chest, warming him up from head to toe and making him grin like-- well. Like an idiot.

Screw his leg. Getting on the bloody rig had been worth it. More than worth it.

“Well then, I guess it’s time to let you rest...” He got up slowly, thinking he better not use all his good luck in one go. “Hope we’ll catch up soon?”

“Sure,” Ana said, still playing with her braid.

He had barely limped to the door when her voice stopped him in his tracks. 

“You must tell me what happened to you in Sweden. I can barely tell you and Torbjörn apart.”

It was fortunate that he was holding on the door frame for support because, had she dropped a bucket of ice-cold water over his head, his blood would have frozen less than it did at that moment.

“What do you mean?” Reinhardt managed to blurt, running a hand through his hair and looking around to see if there was a mirror handy. He  _ did not _ look like Torb. His hair was way softer and was easily styled, his beard had the perfect scruffy point. Not to talk about, well, how different the rest of them was. 

Ana burst into laughter like he had not heard from her in ages. It was a lovely sound, there was no denying that, but now he really  _ needed _ a mirror.

“Ah, Reinhardt,” she said after a moment, drying her eye with the heel of a hand. “I didn’t remember you tend to take things literally.”

“How… else am I supposed to--”

“It actually looks nice,” she interrupted him, her golden eye full of mirth. “And the beard suits you better.”

“Oh,” was the only thing he managed to say before bursting into relieved laughter. Yet, it took him a moment to realize she had just paid him a compliment. “ _ Ah, danke schön-- _ ” The room was very hot again, and her superpowers were  _ so, so unfair _ ! If he stayed any longer in the room, he sure would end up saying something really stupid. “ _ Gute,  _ uhm, night?”

Or trying to, at least.

“Good night, silly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END OF THE FIRST PART!!!
> 
> Yahoo. Thanks all that have read this far!! I hope you had fun and don't hate me much >8)
> 
> Go read the next part! Go!
> 
> Bonus tracks!
> 
> ** Practical Arrangement (Sting and Jo Lawry)  
> ** Love, love, love (Monsters & Men)  
> ** True Love (P!nk)  
> ** She’s so mean (Matchbox twenty)  
> ** Please don’t leave (P!nk)


End file.
